Death is easier than a wretched life; and better never to have born than to live and fare badly.
The adulterer dies. An old custom, justice.
Time brings all things to pass.
. . . it is yours women's to be silent and stay within doors.
When a tongue fails to send forth appropriate shafts, there might be a word to act as healer of these.
Misfortune wandering the same track lights now upon one and now upon another.