For Ares, lord of strife,
Who doth the swaying scales of battle hold,
War’s money-changer, giving dust for gold,
Sends back, to hearts that held them dear,
Scant ash of warriors, wept with many a tear,
Light to the hand, but heavy to the soul;
Yea, fills the light urn full
With what survived the flame — Death’s dusty measure of a hero’s frame!

The truth
has to be melted out of our stubborn lives
By suffering.
Nothing speaks the truth,
Nothing tells us how things really are,
Nothing forces us to know
What we do not what to know
Except pain.
And this is how the gods declare their love.
Truth comes with pain.

Go Premium

Support Quotewise while enjoying an ad-free experience and premium features.

View Plans
Ἔστι· θεοῦ δ᾽ ἔτ᾽ ἰσχὺς καθυπερτέρα·
πολλάκι δ᾽ ἐν κακοῖσι τὸν ἀμάχανον
κἀκ χαλεπᾶς δύας ὕπερθ᾽ ὀμμάτων
κρημναμενᾶν νεφελᾶν ὀρθοῖ.

Δύσφρων γὰρ ἰὸς καρδίαν προσήμενος
ἄχθος διπλοίζει τῷ πεπαμένῳ νόσον·
τοῖς τ' αὐτὸς αὑτοῦ πήμασιν βαρύνεται
καὶ τὸν θυραῖον ὄλβον εἰσορῶν στένει.