One's own escape from troubles makes one glad; but bringing friends to trouble is hard grief.
If it were possible to heal sorrow by weeping and to raise the dead with tears, gold were less prized than grief.
As they say of the blind, Sounds are the things I see.
Look how men live, always precariously balanced between good and bad fortune.
For no one loves the bearer of bad tidings.
To live without evil belongs only to the gods.