Long Tarries Destiny, But Comes To Those

And One Who Is Just Of His Own Free Will Shall Not Lack For Happiness; And He Will Never Come To Utter Ruin.

Alas, Poor Men, Their Destiny. When All Goes Well A Shadow Will Overthrow It. If It Be Unkind One Stroke Of A Wet Sponge Wipes All The Picture Out.

For The Poison Of Hatred Seated Near The Heart Doubles The Burden For The One Who Suffers The Disease; He Is Burdened With His Own Sorrow, And Groans On Seeing Another's Happiness.

A Great Ox Stands On My Tongue.

Misfortune Wandering The Same Track Lights Now Upon One And Now Upon Another.