Τέτλαθι δή, κραδίη· καὶ κύντερον ἄλλο ποτ' ἔτλης. - Homer

Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns
driven time and again off course, once he had plundered
the hallowed heights of Troy.
Many cities of men he saw and learned their minds,
many pains he suffered, heartsick on the open sea,
fighting to save his life and bring his comrades home.

What are the children of men, but as leaves that drop at the wind's breath?

Τοὶ δ' ἀλλήλους φιλεόντων
ὡς τὸ πάρος, πλοῦτος δὲ καὶ εἰρήνη ἅλις ἔστω.