I Should Rather Labor As Another's Serf,

Just Once I'd Like Someone To Call Me 'sir' Without Adding 'you're Making A Scene.'

What Mighty Woes To Thy Imperial Race From Woman Rose.

Men Are So Quick To Blame The Gods: They Say That We Devise Their Misery. But They Themselves- In Their Depravity- Design Grief Greater Than The Griefs That Fate Assigns.

One Who Journeying Along A Way He Knows Not, Having Crossed A Place Of Drear Extent, Before Him Sees A River Rushing Swiftly Toward The Deep, And All Its Tossing Current White With Foam, And Stops And Turns, And Measures Back His Way.

No Tv And No Beer Makes Homer Something Something.