I grabbed a pile of dust, and holding it up, foolishly asked for as many birthdays as the grains of dust, I forgot to ask that they be years of youth.
Even pleasure cloys without variety.
Even the gods are moved by the voice of entreaty.
That which never has been, never is, and never will be.
What is deservedly suffered must be borne with calmness, but when the pain is unmerited, the grief is resistless.
The sharp thorn often produces delicate roses.