A sympathetic friend can be quite as dear as a brother.
How delicate her feet who shuns the ground, Stepping a-tiptoe on the heads of men.
From his tongue flowed speech sweeter than honey.
Hateful to me as are the gates of hell, Is he who, hiding one thing in his heart, Utters another.
There is nothing more dread and more shameless than a woman who plans such deeds in her heart as the foul deed which she plotted when she contrived her husband's murder.
Few sons are like their fathers - many are worse, few better.