You Know Those Balls That They Put

Insignificant Mortals, Who Are As Leaves Are, And Now Flourish And Grow Warm With Life, And Feed On What The Ground Gives, But Then Again Fade Away And Are Dead.

Nay If Even In The House Of Hades The Dead Forget Their Dead, Yet Will I Even There Be Mindful Of My Dear Comrade.

If Any Man Obeys The Gods, They Listen To Him Also.

Our Fruitless Labours Mourn, And Only Rich In Barren Fame Return.

I Have No Interest At All In Food And Drink, But Only In Slaughter And Blood And The Agonized Groans Of Mangled Men