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For too much rest becomes a pain.

Homer

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Homer
Author
Poet
Writer
Homerus
Homeros
Mæonides
Becomes
Pain
Much
Rest

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No season now for calm, familiar talk.
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When are people going to learn? Democracy doesn't work.
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One man is a splendid fighter -- a god has made him so -- one's a dancer, another skilled at lyre and song, and deep in the next man's chest farseeing Zeus plants the gift of judgment, good clear sense. And many reap the benefits of that treasure.
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We mortals hear only the news, and know nothing at all.
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youth is quick in feeling but weak in judgement.
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Two urns on Jove's high throne have ever stood, the source of evil one, and one of good from thence the cup of mortal man he fills, blessings to these, to those distributes ills to most he mingles both.
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A little child born yesterday A thing on mother's milk and kisses fed.
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Not at all similar are the race of the immortal gods and the race of men who walk upon the earth.
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Now from the smooth deep ocean-stream the sun Began to climb the heavens, and with new rays Smote the surrounding fields.
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The chance of war Is equal, and the slayer oft is slain.
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For when two Join in the same adventure, one perceives Before the other how they ought to act While one alone, however prompt, resolves More tardily and with a weaker will.
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By Jove the stranger and the poor are sent, and what to those we give, to Jove is lent.
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Zeus most glorious and most great, Thundercloud, throned in the heavens! Let not the sun go down and the darkness come, until I cast down headlong the citadel of Priam in flames, and burn his gates with blazing fire, and tear to rags the shirt upon Hectors breast! May many of his men fall about him prone in the dust and bite the earth!
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Servants, when their lords no longer sway, Their minds no more to righteous courses bend.
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I have no interest at all in food and drink, but only in slaughter and blood and the agonized groans of mangled men
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Men in their generations are like the leaves of the trees. The wind blows and one year's leaves are scattered on the ground but the trees burst into bud and put on fresh ones when the spring comes round.
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Behold, on wrong Swift vengeance waits and art subdues the strong.
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'T is fortune gives us birth, But Jove alone endues the soul with worth.
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I've gone back in time to when dinosaurs weren't just confined to zoos.
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When I was seventeen I drank some very good beer I drank some very good beer I purchased With a fake ID My name was Brian McGee I stayed up listening to Queen When I was seventeen
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