Sinks My Sad Soul With Sorrow To

Praise Me Not Too Much, Nor Blame Me, For Thou Speakest To The Greeks Who Know Me.

...if Fifty Bands Of Men Surrounded Us/ And Every Sword Sang For Your Blood,/ You Could Make Off Still With Their Cows And Sheep.

There Is No Greater Glory That Can Befall A Man That What He Achieves With The Speed Of His Feet Or The Strength Of His Hands.

If You're Gonna Get Mad At Me Every Time I Do Something Stupid, Then I Guess I'll Just Have To Stop Doing Stupid Things.

The Gods, Likening Themselves To All Kinds Of Strangers, Go In Various Disguises From City To City, Observing The Wrongdoing And The Righteousness Of Men.