But when once the earth has sucked up a dead man's blood, there is no way to raise him up.
You have been trapped in the inescapable net of ruin by your own want of sense.
Call no man happy till he is dead.
Don't you know this, that words are doctors to a diseased temperment?
The force of necessity is irresistible.
The anvil of justice is planted firm, and fate who makes the sword does the forging in advance.