A wise son makes a glad father, But a foolish son is the grief of his mother.
My beloved is mine and I am his.
Of making many books there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh.
All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full.
The desire, which is accomplished, is sweet to the soul.
What has been will be again, what has been done will be done again; there is nothing new under the sun