“Rage – Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus’ son Achilles, murderous, doomed, that cost the Achaeans countless losses, hurling down to the House of Death so many sturdy souls, great fighters’ souls, but made their bodies carrion, feasts for the dogs and birds, and the will of Zeus was moving toward its end. Begin, Muse, when the two first broke and clashed, Agamemnon lord of men and brilliant Achilles
What god drove them to fight with such a fury? Apollo the son of Zeus and Leto. Incensed at the king he swept a fatal plague through the army – men were dying and all because Agamemnon spurned Apollo’s priest.”
– Iliad 1.1–12 (trans. Fagles)
“... but he with his ruthless bronze was hunting Aphrodite – Diomedes, knowing her for the coward goddess she is, none of the mighty gods who marshal men to battle, neither Athena nor Enyo raider of cities, not at all. But once he caught her, stalking her through the onslaught, gallant Tydeus’ offspring rushed her, lunging out, thrusting his sharp spear at her soft, limp wrist and the brazen point went slashing through her flesh, tearing straight through the fresh immortal robes the Graces themselves had made her with their labor. He gouged her just where the wristbone joins the palm and immortal blood came flowing quickly from the goddess, the ichor that courses through their veins, the blessed gods– they eat no bread, they drink no shining wine, and so the gods are bloodless, so we call them deathless.”
– Iliad 5.370–384 (trans. Fagles)
“And Zeus the son of Cronus with Cronus’ twisting ways, filling with pity now to see the two great fighters, said to Hera, his sister and his wife, “My cruel fate . . . my Sarpedon, the man I love the most, my own son – doomed to die at the hands of Menoetius’ son Patroclus. My heart is torn in two as I try to weigh all this.
Shall I pluck him up, now, while he’s still alive, and set him down in the rich green land of Lycia, far from the war at Troy and all its tears? Or beat him down at Patroclus’ hands at last?”
But Queen Hera, her eyes wide, protested strongly: “Dread majesty, son of Cronus – what are you saying? A man, a mere mortal, his doom sealed long ago? You’d set him free from all the pains of death? Do as you please, Zeus . . . but none of the deathless gods will ever praise you.
– Iliad 16.512–527 (trans. Fagles)
“Let us put our griefs to rest in our own hearts, rake them up no more, raw as we are with mourning. What good’s to be won from tears that chill the spirit? So the immortals spun our lives that we, we wretched men live on to bear such torments – the gods live free of sorrows. There are two great jars that stand on the floor of Zeus’ halls and hold his gifts, our miseries one, the other blessings. When Zeus who loves the lightning mixes gifts for a man, now he meets with misfortune, now good times in turn. When Zeus dispenses gifts from the jar of sorrows only, he makes a man an outcast – brutal, ravenous hunger drives him down the face of the shining earth, stalking far and wide, cursed by gods and men.
– Iliad 24.610–622 (trans. Fagles)