I Shall Laugh My Bitter Laugh.

Whatever You May Say, The Body Depends On The Soul.

We Ought To Thank God For That. Yes, The Man Who Tills The Land Is More Worthy Of Respect Than Any.

At The End Of The Table, The Secretary Was Reading The Decision In Some Case, But In Such A Mournful And Monotonous Voice, That The Condemned Man Himself Would Have Fallen Asleep While Listening To It. The Judge, No Doubt, Would Have Been The First Of All To Do So, Had He Not Entered Into An Engrossing Conversation While It Was Going On.

The Current Generation Now Sees Everything Clearly, It Marvels At The Errors, It Laughs At The Folly Of Its Ancestors, Not Seeing That This Chronicle Is All Overscored By Divine Fire, That Every Letter Of It Cries Out, That From Everywhere The Piercing Finger Is Pointed At It, At This Current Generation; But The Current Generation Laughs And Presumptuously, Proudly Begins A Series Of New Errors, At Which Their Descendants Will Also Laugh Afterwards.

...and Sank Into The Profound Slumber Which Comes Only To Such Fortunate Folk As Are Troubled Neither With Mosquitoes Nor Fleas Nor Excessive Activity Of Brain.