The Melancholy Joys Of Evils Pass'd, For

Thou Wilt Lament Hereafter, When The Evil Shall Be Done And Shall Admit No Cure.

How Vain, Without The Merit, Is The Name.

I Have No Interest At All In Food And Drink, But Only In Slaughter And Blood And The Agonized Groans Of Mangled Men

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.

For They Imagined As They Wished--that It Was A Wild Shot,/ An Unintended Killing--fools, Not To Comprehend/ They Were Already In The Grip Of Death./ But Glaring Under His Brows Odysseus Answered: 'you Yellow Dogs, You Thought I'd Never Make It/ Home From The Land Of Troy. You Took My House To Plunder,/ Twisted My Maids To Serve Your Beds. You Dared/ Bid For My Wife While I Was Still Alive./ Contempt Was All You Had For The Gods Who Rule Wide Heaven,/ Contempt For What Men Say Of You Hereafter./ Your Last Hour Has Come. You Die In Blood.