We mourn the transitory things and fret under the yoke of the immutable ones.
We endeavor to stuff the universe into the gullet of an aphorism.
If we were brought to trial for the crimes we have committed against ourselves, few would escape the gallows.
Reason is the shepherd trying to corral life's vast flock of wild irrationalities.
Avarice is fear sheathed in gold.
To judge a man's character by only one of its manifestations is like judging the sea by a jugful of its water.