“And by a prudent flight and cunning save A life which valour could not, from the grave. A better buckler I can soon regain, But who can get another life again?”

Take the joy and bear the sorrow, looking past your hopes and fears: learn to recognize the measured dance that orders all our years.

These golden matters Of Gyges and his treasuries Are no concern of mine. Jealousy has no power over me, Nor do I envy a god his work, And I do not burn to rule. Such things have no Fascination for my eyes.

Zeus, the father of the Olympic Gods, turned mid-day into night, hiding the light of the dazzling Sun; and sore fear came upon men.

The Fox knows many things-the hedgehog one big one.

Be brave, my heart. Plant your feet and square your shoulders to the enemy. Meet him among the man-killing spears. Hold your ground. In victory, do not brag; in defeat, do not weep.

Old women should not seek to be perfumed.

We don’t rise to the level of our expectations, we fall to the level of our training.

Nothing can be sworn impossible since Zeus made night during mid-day, hiding the light of the shining Sun.

Let who will boast their courage in the field, I find but little safety from my shield, Nature’s, not honour’s law we must obey: This made me cast my useless shield away.

I have a high art, I hurt with cruelty those who would damage me.

Years are only garments, and you either wear them with style all your life, or else you go dowdy to the grave.

This body is a tent which for a space Does the pure soul with kingly presence grace; When he departs, comes the tent-pitcher, Death, Strikes it, and moves to a new halting-place.

We are in truth but pieces on this chess board of life, which in the end we leave, only to drop one by one into the grave of nothingness.

Drive me to a ditch and I’ll dig the grave myself through conversation.

You don’t need a sad soul to feel the beauty of a dead grave, Just stay with the pale moon when darkness wants the night to be brave.

My spirit will rise from the grave and the world will see I was right.

When my casket is being carried to the grave, leave my hands hanging outside. For empty-handed, I came into this world and empty-handed, I shall go!

Time is the king of all men, he is their parent and their grave, and gives them what he will and not what they crave.