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I've finally tapped into that spirit of self-destruction that makes rock-n-roll the king of music!

Homer

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Homer
Author
Poet
Writer
Homerus
Homeros
Mæonides
Rock
Rocks
Makes
Tapped
Spirit
Roll
Music
King
Self
Finally
Destruction
Kings

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Take thou thy arms and come with me, For we must quit ourselves like men, and strive To air our cause, although we be but two. Great is the strength of feeble arms combined, And we can combat even with the brave.
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[B]ut it is only what happens, when they die, to all mortals. The sinews no longer hold the flesh and the bones together, and once the spirit has let the white bones, all the rest of the body is made subject to the fire's strong fury, but the soul flitters out like a dream and flies away.
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'T is fortune gives us birth, But Jove alone endues the soul with worth.
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Lay ye down the golden chain From Heaven, and pull at its inferior links Both Goddesses and Gods.
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But curb thou the high spirit in thy breast, for gentle ways are best, and keep aloof from sharp contentions.
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Have patience, heart.
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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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Look, I'm not asking you to like me, I'm not asking you to put yourself in a position where I can touch your goodies, I'm just asking you to be fair.
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The fates have given mankind a patient soul.
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Insignificant mortals, who are as leaves are, and now flourish and grow warm with life, and feed on what the ground gives, but then again fade away and are dead.
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Light is the task where many share the toil.
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A decent boldness ever meets with friends.
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Once harm has been done, even a fool understands it.
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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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Two diverse gates there are of bodiless dreams, These of sawn ivory, and those of horn. Such dreams as issue where the ivory gleams Fly without fate, and turn our hopes to scorn. But dreams which issue through the burnished horn, What man soe'er beholds them on his bed, These work with virtue and of truth are born.
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Whatever day Makes man a slave, takes half his worth away.
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Immortals are never alien to one another.
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