Grace is given of god, but knowledge is bought in the market.

My wind is turned to bitter north, That was so soft a south before; My sky, that shone so sunny bright, With foggy gloom is clouded o'er My gay green leaves are yellow-black, Upon the dank autumnal floor; For love, departed once, comes back No more again, no more.

In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly, but westward, look, the land is bright.

Thou shalt not kill; but needst not strive officiously to keep alive.

Out of sight is out of mind.

Grace is given of god, but knowledge is bought in the market.

Thou shalt not steal; an empty feat, When it's so lucrative to cheat.