There is no love lost between us.
For the army is a school in which the miser becomes generous, and the generous prodigal; miserly soldiers are like monsters, but very rarely seen.
What man can pretend to know the riddle of a woman's mind?
Blessed be he who invented sleep, a cloak that covers all a man's thoughts.
Nay, what is worse, perhaps turn poet, which, they say, is an infectious and incurable distemper.
All sorrows are bearable, if there is bread.