We, peopling the void air, make gods to whom we impute the ills we ought to bear.
The mind like a sick body can be healed and changed by medicine.
[N]ature repairs one thing from another and allows nothing to be born without the aid of another's death.
Continual dropping wears away a stone.
Falling drops will at last wear away stone.
From the heart of this fountain of delights wells up some bitter taste to choke them even amid the flowers.