I sing of arms and of a man: his fate had made him fugitive: he was the first to journey from the coasts of Troy as far as Italy and the Lavinian shores Across the lands and waters he was… — Virgil Copy Share Image
In youth alone, unhappy mortals live; But, ah! the mighty bliss is fugitive: Discolour'd sickness, anxious labour, come, And age, and death's inexorable doom. — Virgil Copy Share Image
“Facilis descensus Averni: noctes atque dies patet atri ianua Ditis; sed revocare gradium superasque evadere ad auras. hoc opus, hic labor est.” — Virgil Copy Share Image
The descent to the infernal regions is easy enough, but to retrace one's steps, and reach the air above, there's the rub. — Virgil Copy Share Image
“..and why the winter suns so rush to bathe themselves in the sea and what slows down the nights to a long lingering crawl...” — Virgil Copy Share Image
“forsan et haec olim meminisse iuvabit. and perhaps it will be pleasing to have remembered these things one day” — Virgil Copy Share Image
“But the Danaan princes and Agamemnon’s battalions, soon as they saw the man and his arms flashing amid the glom, trembled with mighty fear;… — Virgil Copy Share Image
“What a tale he's told, what a bitter bowl of war he's drunk to the dregs.” — Virgil Copy Share Image
