Happy is it to place a daughter; yet it pains a father's heart when he delivers to another's house a child, the object of his tender care.
Sweet is the remembrance of troubles when you are in safety.
The way of God is complex, he is hard for us to predict. He moves the pieces and they come somehow into a kind of order.
There is nothing more hostile to a city that a tyrant, under whom in the first and chiefest place, there are not laws in common, but one man, keeping the law himself to himself, has the sway, and this is no longer equal.
Danger gleams like sunshine to a brave man's eyes.
Few have greater riches than the joy That comes to us in visions, In dreams which nobody can take away.
He who believes needs no explanation.
The man who melts With social sympathy, though not allied, Is more worth than a thousand kinsmen.
Out of some little thing, too free a tongue can make an outrageous wrangle.
For the good, when praised, feel something of disgust, if to excess commended.
No one is happy all his life long.
Of mortals there is no one who is happy. If wealth flows in upon one, one may be perhaps luckier than one's neighbor, but still not happy.
Happy the man whose lot it is to know The secrets of the earth. He hastens not To work his fellows hurt by unjust deeds, But with rapt admiration contemplates Immortal Nature's ageless harmony, And how and when the order came to be.
Wine enlivens the human soul.
The company of just and righteous men is better than wealth and a rich estate.
Reason can wrestle and overthrow terror.
Who knows but life be that which men call death, And death what men call life?
It was my tongue that swore; my heart is unsworn.
Where there is no wine there is no love.
Wine is a terrible foe, hard to wrestle with.
Love must not touch the marrow of the soul. Our affections must be breakable chains that we can cast them off or tighten them.
The new-come stepmother hates the children born to a first wife.
Alas, how right the ancient saying is: We, who are old, are nothing else but noise And shape. Like mimicries of dreams we go, And have no wits, although we think us wise.
Slight not what's near through aiming at what's far.
The best of seers is he who guesses well.
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