Few Sons Attain The Praise Of Their

Even His Griefs Are A Joy Long After To One That Remembers All That He Wrought And Endured.

It Is Not Strength, But Art, Obtains The Prize, And To Be Swift Is Less Than To Be Wise.

All Strangers And Beggars Are From Zeus, And A Gift, Though Small, Is Precious.

Restrain Yourself... And Gloat In Silence. I'll Have No Jubilation Here. It Is An Impious Thing To Exult Over The Slain.

For Too Much Rest Becomes A Pain.