The moving light, rejoicing in its strength, Sped from the pyre of pine, and urged its way, In golden glory, like some strange new sun.
Only when a man's life comes to its end in prosperity dare we pronounce him happy.
Wisdom cometh by suffering.
. . . it is yours women's to be silent and stay within doors.
Since long I've held silence a remedy for harm.
But I must bear my destiny as best I can, knowing well that there is no resisting the strength of necessity.