I would rather be a serf in a poor man's house and be above ground than reign among the dead.

Have patience, heart.

The windy satisfaction of the tongue.

Know from the bounteous heaven all riches flow.

Insignificant mortals, who are as leaves are, and now flourish and grow warm with life, and feed on what the ground gives, but then again fade away and are dead.

Life and death are balanced as it were on the edge of a razor

See now, how men lay blame upon us gods for what is after all nothing but their own folly.