What has this unfeeling age of ours left untried, what wickedness has it shunned?
The mountains are in labour, the birth will be an absurd little mouse.
It is the false shame of fools to try to conceal wounds that have not healed.
Misfortunes, untoward events, lay open, disclose the skill of a general, while success conceals his weakness, his weak points.
By heaven you have destroyed me, my friends!
The musician who always plays on the same string is laughed at.