Vain is your boast in that you have scratched the sole of my foot… A worthless coward can inflict but a light wound. When I wound a man, though I but graze his skin, it is another matter, for my weapon will lay him low. His wife will tear her cheeks out for grief and his children will be fatherless: there he will rot, reddening the earth with his blood, and vultures, not women, will gather round him.
Ah my friend, if you and I could escape this fray and live forever, never a trace of age, immortal, I would never fight on the front lines again or command you to the field where men win fame.
The sort of words a man says is the sort he hears in return.
The creation of genius always seem like miracles, because they are, for the most part, crated far out of the reach of observation.
Even his griefs are a joy long after to one that remembers all that he wrought and endured.
Few sons are like their fathers–most are worse, few better.
But a man’s life breath cannot come back again-no raiders in force, no trading brings it back, once it slips through a man’s clenched teeth.
Mother tells me, the immortal goddess Thetis with her glistening feet, that two fates bear me on to the day of death. If I hold out here and I lay siege to Troy, my journey home is gone, but my glory never dies. If I voyage back to the fatherland I love, my pride, my glory dies…true, but the life that’s left me will be long, the stroke of death will not come on me quickly.
Think not to match yourself against the gods, for men that walk the earth cannot hold their own with the immortals.
the motives of the writer form as important an ingredient in the analysis or his history, as the facts he records. Probability is a powerful and troublesome test; and it is by this troublesome standard that a large portion of historical evidence is sifted.
My name is Nobody.