But now, as it is, sorrows, unending sorrows must surge within your heart as well—for your own son’s death. Never again will you embrace him stiding home. My spirit rebels—I’ve lost the will to live, to take my stand in the world of men—
Words empty as the wind are best left unsaid.
The charity that is a trifle to us can be precious to others.
Light is the task where many share the toil.
A sympathetic friend can be quite as dear as a brother.
Nothing shall I, while sane, compare with a friend.
