A Quote by Homer

By Jove the stranger and the poor are sent, and what to those we give, to Jove is lent. — © Homer
By Jove the stranger and the poor are sent, and what to those we give, to Jove is lent.
Great Jove angry is no longer Jove.
I feel the same truth how often in my trivial conversation with my neighbours, that somewhat higher in each of us overlooks this by-play, and Jove nods to Jove from behind each of us.
Presumptuous Man! the reason wouldst thou find,Why form'd so weak, so little, and so blind?First, if thou canst, the harder reason guess,Why form'd no weaker, blinder, and no less!Ask of thy mother earth, why oaks are madeTaller or stronger than the weeds they shade?Or ask of yonder argent fields above,Why Jove's Satellites are less than Jove?
Catch {a man} at the moment when he is really poor in spirit and smuggle into his mind the gratifying reflection, "By jove, I'm being humble," and almost immediately pride - pride at his own humility - will appear.
No, not Jove Himselfe, at one time, can be wise and love.
Two urns on Jove's high throne have ever stood, the source of evil one, and one of good; from thence the cup of mortal man he fills, blessings to these, to those distributes ills; to most he mingles both.
Will cast the spear and leave the rest to Jove.
Not from a vain or shallow thought His awful Jove young Phidias brought.
Nay, in death's hand, the grape-stone proves As strong as thunder is in Jove's.
'T is fortune gives us birth, But Jove alone endues the soul with worth.
Fool, not to know that love endures no tie, And Jove but laughs at lovers' perjury.
Their woes gone by, and both to heaven upflown, To bow for gratitude before Jove's throne.
Jove lifts the golden balances that show The fates of mortal men, and things below.
No one who has any self-respect stays in Ireland, but flees afar as though from a country that has undergone the visitation of an angered Jove.
The earth is rocking, the skies are riven-- Jove in a passion, in god-like fashion, Is breaking the crystal urns of heaven.
The bird of Jove, stoop'd from his aery tour, Two birds of gayest plume before him drove.
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