None can hold fortune still and make it last.
Stronger than lover's love is lover's hate. Incurable, in each, the wounds they make.
Happy is it to place a daughter; yet it pains a father's heart when he delivers to another's house a child, the object of his tender care.
Few have greater riches than the joy That comes to us in visions, In dreams which nobody can take away.
Luckier than one's neighbor, but still not happy.
High honors are sweet To a man's heart, but ever They stand close to the brink of grief.