Now From The Smooth Deep Ocean-stream The

Better To Flee From Death Than Feel Its Grip.

To Labour Is The Lot Of Man Below; And When Jove Gave Us Life, He Gave Us Woe.

Dreams Surely Are Difficult, Confusing, And Not Everything In Them Is Brought To Pass For Mankind. For Fleeting Dreams Have Two Gates: One Is Fashioned Of Horn And One Of Ivory. Those Which Pass Through The One Of Sawn Ivory Are Deceptive, Bringing Tidings Which Come To Nought, But Those Which Issue From The One Of Polished Horn Bring True Results When A Mortal Sees Them.

Nothing In The World Is So Incontinent As A Man's Accursed Appetite.

There Is A Fullness Of All Things, Even Of Sleep And Love.