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Reproach is infinite, and knows no end So voluble a weapon is the tongue Wounded, we wound and neither side can fail For every man has equal strength to rail.

Homer

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Homer
Author
Poet
Writer
Homerus
Homeros
Mæonides
Men
Weapons
Wound
Failing
Wounded
Equal
Weapon
Strength
Wounds
Side
Tongue
Sides
Fail
Ends
Neither
Rail
Every
Infinite
Reproach

More quotes by Homer

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Shoulder-to-shoulder, swing to the work, we must - just two as we are - if we hope to make some headway. The worst cowards, banded together, have their power, but you and I have got the skill to fight their best.
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The rest were vulgar deaths unknown to fame.
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The wine urges me on, the bewitching wine, which sets even a wise man to singing and to laughing gently and rouses him up to dance and brings forth words which were better unspoken.
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Too dear I prized a fair enchanting face: beauty unchaste is beauty in disgrace.
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To heal divisions, to relieve the oppress'd, In virtue rich in blessing others, bless'd.
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Anger, which, far sweeter than trickling drops of honey, rises in the bosom of a man like smoke.
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I detest the man who hides on thing in the depths of his heart and speaks forth another.
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I'm satisfied. It's straight,...but it's just so hot, and I'm just so fraustrated.
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Good things don't end in -eum they end in -mania or -teria.
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'T is fortune gives us birth, But Jove alone endues the soul with worth.
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O friends, be men so act that none may feel Ashamed to meet the eyes of other men. Think each one of this children and his wife, His home, his parents, living yet and dead. For them, the absent ones, I supplicate, And bid you rally here, and scorn to fly.
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See how God ever like with like doth pair, And still the worthless doth the worthless lead!
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youth is quick in feeling but weak in judgement.
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They did not know her-gods are hard for mortals to recognize.
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Don't mess with the dead, boy, they have eerie powers.
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I live an idle burden to the ground.
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Why have you come to me here, dear heart, with all these instructions? I promise you I will do everything just as you ask. But come closer. Let us give in to grief, however briefly, in each other's arms.
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I hate To tell again a tale once fully told.
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This is the way I've always thought it should be. We've always blamed ourselves, but I guess we know what cylinder wasn't firing!
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Which would you rather be, a conqueror in the Olympic games, or the crier that proclaims who are conquerors?
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