Over The Wine-dark Sea.

And Now I'm Using Sarcasm, To Confess The Whole Thing So Later I Could Say I Already Told You.

A Little Child Born Yesterday A Thing On Mother's Milk And Kisses Fed.

Bear Patiently, My Heart, For You Have Suffered Heavier Things.

Men Are So Quick To Blame The Gods: They Say That We Devise Their Misery. But They Themselves- In Their Depravity- Design Grief Greater Than The Griefs That Fate Assigns.

He Lives Not Long Who Battles With The Immortals, Nor Do His Children Prattle About His Knees When He Has Come Back From Battle And The Dread Fray.