O Death the Healer, scorn thou not, I pray, To come to me: of cureless ills thou art The one physician. Pain lays not its touch Upon a corpse.

And one who is just of his own free will shall not lack for happiness; and he will never come to utter ruin.

Sweet is a grief well ended.

There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief.

Wisdom cometh by suffering.

When a tongue fails to send forth appropriate shafts, there might be a word to act as healer of these.

Against necessity, against its strength, no one can fight and win.