This Flour Of Wifly Patience.

One Flesh They Are; And One Flesh, So I'd Guess, Has But One Heart, Come Grief Or Happiness.

Who Then May Trust The Dice, At Fortune's Throw?

He Who Accepts His Poverty Unhurt I'd Say Is Rich Although He Lacked A Shirt. But Truly Poor Are They Who Whine And Fret And Covet What They Cannot Hope To Get.

The Fields Have Eyes, And The Woods Have Ears.

One Cannot Scold Or Complain At Every Word. Learn To Endure Patiently, Or Else, As I Live And Breathe, You Shall Learn It Whether You Want Or Not.