To make wail and lament for one's ill fortune, when one will win a tear from the audience, is well worthwhile.
The will was of Zeus, the hand of Hephaestus.
Everyone's quick to blame the alien.
Let there be wealth without tears; enough for the wise man who will ask no further.
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.
In few men is it part of nature to respect a friend's prosperity without begrudging him.