If to some my tale seems foolishness I am content that such could count me fool.
The stubbornest of wills Are soonest bended, as the hardest iron, O'er-heated in the fire to brittleness,Flies soonest into fragments, shivered through.
In season, all is good.
Kids are anchors of mothers' life
The gods love those of ordered soul.
Not even Ares battles against necessity.