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.
Thou knowst the oer-eager vehemence of youth,How quick in temper, and in judgement weak.
The stars never lie, but the astrologers lie about the stars.
And here I am using my own lungs like a sucker.
And woe succeeds woe.
How vain, without the merit, is the name.