High honors are sweet To a man's heart, but ever They stand close to the brink of grief.
Oftener than not the old are uncontrollable; Their tempers make them difficult to deal with.
There is desire in those who love to hear about their loved ones' pains.
Time will explain it all. He is a talker, and needs no questioning before he speaks.
Human misery must somewhere have a stop; there is no wind that always blows a storm; great good fortune comes to failure in the end. All is change; all yields its place and goes; to persevere, trusting in what hopes he has, is courage in a man. The coward despairs.
How dark are all the ways of god to man!