A dog starved at his master's gate Predicts the ruin of the state.
O thou who passest through our valleys in Thy strength, curb thy fierce steeds, allay the heat That flames from their large nostrils! Thou, O Summer, Oft pitchest here thy golden tent, and oft Beneath our oaks hast slept, while we beheld With joy thy ruddy limbs and flourishing hair.
I will not cease from mental fight Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand.
A truth that's told with bad intent beats all the lies you can invent.
Everything is beautiful in its own way. Exuberance is beauty.
The fox provides for himself, but God provides for the lion.