A heap of bricks is not yet a house.
Don't look up to heaven, for what will you see in the sky, except stars, luminous but cold, wholly insensitive to pity?
A stranger's rose is but a thorn.
At the Throne of Glory it is not the nobly-born that are beloved, but the nobly-risen.
Youth is fair, a graceful stag, Leaping, playing in a park. Age is gray, a toothless hag, Stumbling in the dark.
In this world it is very dangerous to be weak.