All things are in the hand of heaven, and Folly, eldest of Jove's daughters, shuts men's eyes to their destruction. She walks delicately, not on the solid earth, but hovers over the heads of men to make them stumble or to ensnare them.
All things are in the hand of heaven, and Folly, eldest of Jove's daughters, shuts men's eyes to their destruction. She walks delicately, not on the solid earth, but hovers over the heads of men to make them stumble or to ensnare them.
Let him submit to me! Only the god of death is so relentless, Death submits to no one-so mortals hate him most of all the gods. Let him bow down to me! I am the greater king, I am the elder-born, I claim-the greater man.
Like the generations of leaves, the lives of mortal men. Now the wind scatters the old leaves across the earth, now the living timber bursts with the new buds and spring comes round again. And so with men: as one generation comes to life, another dies away.
Ruin, eldest daughter of Zeus, she blinds us all, that fatal madness-she with those delicate feet of hers, never touching the earth, gliding over the heads of men to trap us all. She entangles one man, now another.
Why, pray, must the Argives needs fight the Trojans? What made the son of Atreus gather the host and bring them? Was it not for the sake of Helen? Are the sons of Atreus the only men in the world who love their wives? Any man of common right feeling will love and cherish her who is his own, as I this woman, with my whole heart
Of all creatures that breathe and move upon the earth, nothing is bred that is weaker than man.
For never, never, wicked man was wise.
No living man can send me to the shades Before my time no man of woman born, Coward or brave, can shun his destiny.
As is the generation of leaves, so is that of humanity. The wind scatters the leaves on the ground, but the live timber burgeons with leaves again in the season of spring returning. So one generation of men will grow while another dies.
Like leaves on trees the race of man is found, Now green in youth, now withering on the ground Another race the following spring supplies They fall successive, and successive rise.
As the generation of leaves, so is that of men.
The tongue of man is a twisty thing, there are plenty of words there of every kind
Men grow tired of sleep, love, singing and dancing sooner than of war.
For Fate has wove the thread of life with pain And twins even from the birth are Misery and Man.
I detest the man who hides one thing in the depth of his heart and speaks forth another.
For dear to gods and men is sacred song. Self-taught I sing by Heaven, and Heaven alone, The genuine seeds of poesy are sown.
Anger, which, far sweeter than trickling drops of honey, rises in the bosom of a man like smoke.
To labour is the lot of man below And when Jove gave us life, he gave us woe.
We are quick to flare up, we races of men on the earth.
As leaves on the trees, such is the life of man.
In saffron-colored mantle, from the tides of ocean rose the morning to bring light to gods and men.
© 2020 Inspirational Stories
© 2020 Inspirational Stories