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Beauty- it was a glorious gift of nature.

Homer

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Homer
Author
Poet
Writer
Homerus
Homeros
Mæonides
Glorious
Gift
Beauty
Nature

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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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Thou wilt lament Hereafter, when the evil shall be done And shall admit no cure.
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Bear patiently, my heart, for you have suffered heavier things.
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Our fruitless labours mourn, And only rich in barren fame return.
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Jove lifts the golden balances that show The fates of mortal men, and things below.
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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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He lives not long who battles with the immortals, nor do his children prattle about his knees when he has come back from battle and the dread fray.
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...if fifty bands of men surrounded us/ and every sword sang for your blood,/ you could make off still with their cows and sheep.
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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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To heal divisions, to relieve the oppress'd, In virtue rich in blessing others, bless'd.
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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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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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