At Achilles Tomb, O Fortunate Youth, To

Holy Shadows Of The Dead, I'm Not To Blame For Your Cruel And Bitter Fate, But The Accursed Rivalry Which Brought Sister Nations And Brother People, To Fight One Another. I Do Not Feel Happy For This Victory Of Mine. On The Contrary, I Would Be Glad, Brothers, If I Had All Of You Standing Here Next To Me, Since We Are United By The Same Language, The Same Blood And The Same Visions.

As For A Limit To One’s Labors, I, For One, Do Not Recognize Any For A High-minded Man, Except That The Labors Themselves Should Lead To Noble Accomplishments.

God Must Have Loved Afghans Because He Made Them So Beautiful.

I Send You A Kaffis Of Mustard Seed, That You May Taste And Acknowledge The Bitterness Of My Victory.

At Achilles Tomb, O Fortunate Youth, To Have Found Homer As The Herald Of Your Glory!