I love the old way best, the simple way of poison, where we too are strong as men.

Toil, says the proverb, is the sire of fame.

Let a man accept his destiny, No pity and no tears.

Reason can wrestle and overthrow terror.

The man whom heaven helps has friends enough.

Do not grieve so much for a husband lost that it wastes away your life.

Again, a smooth answer, signifying nothing.