A man dies not for the many wounds that pierce his breast, unless it be that life's end keep pace with death, nor by sitting on his hearth at home doth he the more escape his appointed doom.
Time, waxing old, doth all things purify.
The cure is in the house, not brought by other hands from distant places, but by its own, in agony and blood.
Old men are children once again a dream that sways and wavers into the hard light of day.
The field of doom bears death as its harvest.
Watchful are the Gods of all Hands with slaughter stained. The black Furies wait, and when a man Has grown by luck, not justice, great, With sudden overturn of chance They wear him to a shade, and, cast Down to perdition, who shall save him?
Respect the altar of Justice and do not, looking to profit, dishonor it by spurning with godless foot; for punishment will come upon you.
Ares gives his verdict without witnesses.
For wherein is life sweet to him who suffers grief?
Joy steals upon me, such joy as calls forth tears.
Time waxing old can many a lesson teach.
A god implants in mortal guilt whenever he wants utterly to confound a house.
For in the voyage of the heart, there is a freight of hatred, and the wind of wrath blows shrill.
In the lack of judgment great harm arises, but one vote cast can set right a house.
God ever works with those who work with will.
If a man should wanton walk with crime ... he shall find in death no great deliverance.
The so-called mother of the child isn't the child's begetter, but only a sort of nursing soil for the new-sown seed. The man, the one on top, is the true parent, while she, a stranger, foster's a stranger's sprout.
Time in his aging overtakes all things alike.
The great and amorous sky curved over the earth, and lay upon her as a pure lover. The rain, the humid flux descending from heaven for both man and animal, for both thick and strong, germinated the wheat, swelled the furrows with fecund mud and brought forth the buds in the orchards. And it is I who empowered these moist espousals, I the great Aphrodite.
For a single path leads to the house of Hades.
On him who wields power gently, the god looks favorably from afar.
It is an ill thing to be the first to bring news of ill.
Justice turns the scale, bringing to some learning through suffering.
The burning gaze of a young woman, such as hath tasted man, shall not escape me; for I have a spirit keen to mark these things.
[Hermes addresses Prometheus :] To you, the clever and crafty, bitter beyond all bitterness, who has sinned against the gods in bestowing honors upon creatures of a day--to you, thief of fire, I speak.
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