Not At All Similar Are The Race

Heaven Hears And Pities Hapless Men Like Me, For Sacred Ev'n To Gods Is Misery.

The Generation Of Mankind Is Like The Generation Of Leaves. The Wind Scatters The Leaves On The Ground, But The Living Tree Burgeons With Leaves Again In The Spring.

We Mortals Hear Only The News, And Know Nothing At All.

I've Always Wondered If There Was A God. And Now I Know There Is -- And It's Me.

Goddess-nurse Of The Young, Give Ear To My Prayer, And Grant That This Woman May Reject The Love-embraces Of Youth And Dote On Grey-haired Old Men Whose Powers Are Dulled, But Whose Hearts Still Desire.