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Now from his breast into the eyes the ache of longing mounted, and he wept at last, his dear wife, clear and faithful, in his arms, longed for as the sunwarmed earth is longed for by a swimmer spent in rough water where his ship went down under Poseidon's blows, gale winds and tons of sea. Few men can keep alive through a big serf to crawl, clotted with brine, on kindly beaches in joy, in joy, knowing the abyss behind: and so she too rejoiced, her gaze upon her husband, her white arms round him pressed as though forever.
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No man or woman born, coward or brave, can shun his destiny.
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Achilles absent was Achilles still!
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You can't go wrong with cocktail weenies. They look as good as they taste. And they come in this delicious red sauce. It looks like ketchup, it tastes like ketchup, but brother, it ain't ketchup!
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Immortals are never alien to one another.
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It is equally bad when one speeds on the guest unwilling to go, and when he holds back one who is hastening. Rather one should befriend the guest who is there, but speed him when he wishes.
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Why cover the same ground again? ... It goes against my grain to repeat a tale told once, and told so clearly.
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But you, Achilles,/ There is not a man in the world more blest than you--/ There never has been, never will be one./ Time was, when you were alive, we Argives/ honored you as a god, and now down here, I see/ You Lord it over the dead in all your power./ So grieve no more at dying, great Achilles.’ I reassured the ghost, but he broke out protesting,/ ‘No winning words about death to me, shining Odysseus!/ By god, I’d rather slave on earth for another man--/ Some dirt-poor tenant farmer who scrapes to keep alive—than rule down here over all the breathless dead.
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All men owe honor to the poets - honor and awe; for they are dearest to the Muse who puts upon their lips the ways of life.
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All deaths are hateful to miserable mortals, but the most pitiable death of all is to starve.
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How vain, without the merit, is the name.
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Marge, when I join an underground cult I expect a little support from my family.
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Achilles glared at him and answered, "Fool, prate not to me about covenants. There can be no covenants between men and lions, wolves and lambs can never be of one mind, but hate each other out and out an through. Therefore there can be no understanding between you and me, nor may there be any covenants between us, till one or other shall fall.
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Even a fool learns something once it hits him.
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And here I am using my own lungs like a sucker.
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Will cast the spear and leave the rest to Jove.
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So, the gods don't hand out all their gifts at once, not build and brains and flowing speech to all. One man may fail to impress us with his looks but a god can crown his words with beauty, charm, and men look on with delight when he speaks out. Never faltering, filled with winning self-control, he shines forth at assembly grounds and people gaze at him like a god when he walks through the streets. Another man may look like a deathless one on high but there's not a bit of grace to crown his words. Just like you, my fine, handsome friend.
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Always to be best, and distinguished above the rest.
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It is entirely seemly for a young man killed in battle to lie mangled by the bronze spear. In his death all things appear fair.
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I wish that strife would vanish away from among gods and mortals, and gall, which makes a man grow angry for all his great mind, that gall of anger that swarms like smoke inside of a man's heart and becomes a thing sweeter to him by far than the dripping of honey.
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Everything is more beautiful because we're doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.
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Who ne'er knew salt, or heard the billows roar.
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Who love too much, hate in the like extreme.
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The difficulty is not so great to die for a friend, as to find a friend worth dying for.