It Is Not Unseemly For A Man

Like Leaves On Trees The Race Of Man Is Found,- Now Green In Youth, Now Withering On The Ground; Another Race The Following Spring Supplies: They Fall Successive, And Successive Rise.

Yea, And If Some God Shall Wreck Me In The Wine-dark Deep, Even So I Will Endure… For Already Have I Suffered Full Much, And Much Have I Toiled In Perils Of Waves And War. Let This Be Added To The Tale Of Those.

Each Man Delights In The Work That Suits Him Best.

The Journey Is Its Own Reward.

Sinks My Sad Soul With Sorrow To The Grave.