What is done is done; and the cracked egg cannot be cured.

When the flood cometh it sweepeth away grain as well as chaff.

Will you come with me, sweet Reader? I thank you. Give me your hand.

(H)ope, be it never so faint, bringeth a gleam into darkness, like a little rushlight that costeth but a groat.

An I must drink sour ale, I must, but never have I yielded me to man before, and that without wound or mark upon my body. Nor, when I bethink me, will I yield now.

So passed the seasons then, so they pass now, and so they will pass in time to come, while we come and go like leaves of the tree that fall and are soon forgotten.

The right to suffer is one of the joys of a free economy.