230 Quotes About Willis-barnstone

Women of honey-sweet voices, my limbs are weak.They will not bear me. I wish, ah, I wish I werea carefree kingfisher flying over flowering foamwith the halcyons—sea-blue holy birds of spring.

Experience and suffering are the mother of wisdom.

Zeus rumbles and a mammoth winter of snow pours from the sky; agile rivers are ice.Damn the winter cold! Pile up the burning logs and water the great flagons of red wine;place feather pillows by your head, and drink.Let us not brood about hard times. Bakchos,our solace is in you and your red wines:our medicine of grape. Drink deeply, drink.

Wash your gullet with wine for the Dog Star returnswith the hear of summer searing a thirsting earth.Cicadas cry softy under high leaves, and pour downshrill song incessantly from under their wings.The artichoke blooms, and women are warm and wanton—but men turn lean and limp for the burning Dog Star parches their brains and knees.

Why water more wine in the great bowl?Why do you drown your gullet in grape?I cannot let you spill out your life on song and drink. Let us go to sea,and not let the wintry calm of morningslip by as a drunken sleep. Had weboarded at dawn, seized rudder and spunthe flapping crossjack into the wind,we would be happy now, happy as swimming in grape. But you draped a lazy armon my shoulder, saying: 'Sir, a pillow,your singing does not lead me to ships'.

I know the tunes of every bird,But I, Alkman, found my words and songin the tongueof the strident partridge.

What birds are thesewildgeese—flying from precincts where the earthand oceans end—with their enormous wings and speckled throats?

Not homes with beautiful roofs,nor walls of permanent stone,nor canals and piers for shipsmake the city—but men of strength.Not stone and timber, nor skillof carpenter—but men bravewho will handle sword and spear.With these you have a city and walls.

It is late, for the harvest is in.Before, we hoped that the full vineswould bring a plenitude of fine grapes,but the clusters are slow to ripen and the landlordspicked unripe bunches from the branch.We have many grapes now—green and sour.