There Is No Road Of Flowers Leading

Sadness Flies Away On The Wings Of Time.

We Ought Never To Scoff At The Wretched, For Who Can Be Sure Of Continued Happiness?

Sensible People Find Nothing Useless. [fr., Il N'est Rien D'inutile Aux Personnes De Sens.]

From A Distance It Is Something; And Nearby It Is Nothing.

I Bend, But I Do Not Break.