The Windy Satisfaction Of The Tongue.

Men In Their Generations Are Like The Leaves Of The Trees. The Wind Blows And One Year's Leaves Are Scattered On The Ground; But The Trees Burst Into Bud And Put On Fresh Ones When The Spring Comes Round.

You Never Know When An Old Calendar Might Come In Handy! Sure, It's Not 1985 Right Now, But Who Knows What Tomorrow Will Bring?

There Is Not Any Advantage To Be Won From Grim Lamentation.

It's Disgraceful How These Humans Blame The Gods. They Say Their Tribulations Come From Us, When They Themselves, Through Their Own Foolishness, Bring Hardships Which Are Not Decreed By Fate.

Why Cover The Same Ground Again? ... It Goes Against My Grain To Repeat A Tale Told Once, And Told So Clearly.