In youth alone, unhappy mortals live; But, ah! the mighty bliss is fugitive: Discolour'd sickness, anxious labour, come, And age, and death's inexorable doom.
The medicine increases the disease.
They can do all because they think they can.
Your descendants shall gather your fruits.
It is easy to go down into Hell...; but to climb back again, to retrace one's steps to the upper air - -there's the rub.
The flocks fear the wolf, the crops the storm, and the trees the wind.