There's many a good bit o' work done with a sad heart.
Brothers are so unpleasant.
Oh, child, men's men: gentle or simple, they're much of a muchness.
Particular lies may speak a general truth.
As they who make Good luck a god count all unlucky men.
There is no short-cut no patent tram-road, to wisdom. After all the centuries of invention, the soul's path lies through the thorny wilderness which must still be trodden in solitude, with bleeding feet, with sobs for help, as it was trodden by them of old time.