God himself favors the brave.
Nowadays nothing but money counts: a fortune brings honors, friendships, the poor man everywhere lies low.
Whether you call my heart affectionate, or you call it womanish: I confess, that to my misfortune, it is soft.
When the lightning strikes but one, not one only does it terrify.
We always strive after what is forbidden, and desire the things refused us.
Often the prickly thorn produces tender roses.