I, For One, Know Of No Sweeter

Come, Friend, You Too Must Die. Why Moan About It So? Even Patroclus Died, A Far, Far Better Man Than You. And Look, You See How Handsome And Powerful I Am? The Son Of A Great Man, The Mother Who Gave Me Life-- A Deathless Goddess. But Even For Me, I Tell You, Death And The Strong Force Of Fate Are Waiting. There Will Come A Dawn Or Sunset Or High Noon When A Man Will Take My Life In Battle Too-- Flinging A Spear Perhaps Or Whipping A Deadly Arrow Off His Bow.

Whoever Among Men Who Walk The Earth Has Seen These Mysteries Is Blessed, But Whoever In Uninitiated And Has Not Received His Share Of The Rite, He Will Not Have The Same Lot As The Others, Once He Is Dead And Dwells In The Mould Where The Sun Goes Down.

Sing, O Muse, Of The Rage Of Achilles, Son Of Peleus, That Brought Countless Ills Upon The Achaeans.

Of Men Who Have A Sense Of Honor, More Come Through Alive Than Are Slain, But From Those Who Flee Comes Neither Glory Nor Any Help.

Unextinguished Laughter Shakes The Skies.