How often when we are comfortable, we begin to long for something new!
Skin white as snow, lips red as blood, and hair black as ebony.
He who is too well off is always longing for something new.
Evil is also not anything small or close to home, and not the worst; otherwise one could grow accustomed to it.
Then up he got with a light heart, free from all his troubles, and walked on till he reached his mother's house, and told her how very easy the road to good luck was.
She'll sting you one day, Oh, ever so gently, so you hardly ever feel it. 'til you fall dead.