Tell Me, O Muse, Of Travellers Far

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.

It Is Not Possible To Fight Beyond Your Strength, Even If You Strive.

There Is Nothing Nobler Or More Admirable Than When Two People Who See Eye To Eye Keep House As Man And Wife, Confounding Their Enemies And Delighting Their Friends.

Strife And Confusion Joined The Fight, Along With Cruel Death, Who Seized One Wounded Man While Still Alive And Then Another Man Without A Wound, While Pulling The Feet Of One More Corpse Out From The Fight. The Clothes Death Wore Around Her Shoulders Were Dyed Red With Human Blood.

The Melancholy Joys Of Evils Pass'd, For He Who Much Has Suffer'd, Much Will Know.