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A glorious death is his, who for his country falls.

Homer

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Homer
Author
Poet
Writer
Homerus
Homeros
Mæonides
Falls
Glorious
Fall
Death
Country

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If you're gonna get mad at me every time I do something stupid, then I guess I'll just have to stop doing stupid things.
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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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For too much rest becomes a pain.
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We battle on in words, as always, mere words, and what's the cure? We cannot find a thing.
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I should rather labor as another's serf, in the home of a man without fortune, one whose livelihood was meager, than rule over all the departed dead.
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Friend, many and many a dream is mere confusion a cobweb of no consequence at all. Two gates for ghostly dreams there are: One gateway of honest horn, and one of ivory. Issuing by the ivory gate are dreams of glimmering illusion, fantasies, but those that come through solid polished horn may be borne out, if mortals only know them.
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First you don't want me to get the pony, then you want me to take it back. Make up your mind!
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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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Will cast the spear and leave the rest to Jove.
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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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