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So it seems to be my lot that I’ll live on.”
—his sense of fairness perfect —
‘Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest!’
The sun sank and the roads of the world grew dark
men put up with misery to stuff their cursed bellies.
The nights are endless
Even too much sleep can be a bore.
a man finds solace even in old sorrows, true, a man who’s weathered many blows and wandered many miles.
—such pain, such sorrow. True, but look at the good fortune Zeus sends you, hand-in-hand with the bad. After all your toil you reached the house of a decent, kindly man who gives you all you need in meat and drink —
welcome words on their lips, and murder in their hearts.
I’ve had my share of pain in the waves and wars.
Bashfulness, for a man in need, is no great friend.”
lots of all it takes to live the life of ease, to make men call you rich.
ground down by pain and sorrow —”
his mind churning with thoughts of bloody work.
A bashful man will make a sorry beggar.”
you’ve got no call to grudge me what’s not yours.
I’ll litter the ground with teeth
Of all that breathes and crawls across the earth, our mother earth breeds nothing feebler than a man. So long as the gods grant him power, spring in his knees, he thinks he will never suffer affliction down the years. But then, when the happy gods bring on the long hard times, bear them he must, against his will, and steel his heart. Our lives, our mood and mind as we pass across the earth, turn as the days turn . . . as the father of men and gods makes each day dawn. I too seemed destined to be a man of fortune once 160 and a wild wicked swath I
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Whatever glow I had died long ago
Now my life is torment
this cursed life of mine! Zeus has torn away my joy.
I have a name for lasting out the worst.”
when a man speaks well we have no grounds for wrangling, no cause for abuse.
Iron has powers to draw a man to ruin.’
I am a man who’s had his share of sorrows. It’s wrong for me, in someone else’s house, to sit here moaning and groaning, sobbing so — it makes things worse, this grieving on and on.
my life is torment
Our lives are much too brief
If a man is cruel by nature, cruel in action, the mortal world will call down curses on his head 380 while he is alive, and all will mock his memory after death. But then if a man is kind by nature, kind in action, his guests will carry his fame across the earth and people all will praise him from the heart.”
“Others are quick to trust a weaker comrade, some poor mortal, far less cunning than I. 50 But I am a goddess, look, the very one who guards you in all your trials to the last.
you’ll soon come up from under all your troubles.”
Even grief is bearable, true, when someone weeps through the days, sobbing, heart convulsed with pain yet embraced by sleep all night —sweet oblivion, sleep dissolving all, the good and the bad, once it seals our eyes — but even my dreams torment me, sent by wicked spirits.
No mercy for men, you give them life yourself then plunge them into misery, brutal hardship.
Still, better be dead than live on here, never winning the prize that tempts us all —forever in pursuit, burning with expectation every day.
all their necks were in the noose, their doom sealed.
the whole floor awash with blood.
he found them one and all in blood and dust . . .
Why do you mock me? —haven’t I wept enough?
a lion with his kill!
Talk about discipline. He achieved his goal and continues working.
masterpiece of guile:
a man worn down with years, his heart racked with sorrow
fish have swallowed down on the high seas or birds and beasts on land have made their meal.
The skies rain blessings on you!
