The Little Done Doth Vanish

The Way Of God Is Complex, He Is Hard For Us To Predict. He Moves The Pieces And They Come Somehow Into A Kind Of Order.

The Nobly Born Must Nobly Meet His Fate.

Sufficiency's Enough For Men Of Sense.

Human Misery Must Somewhere Have A Stop; There Is No Wind That Always Blows A Storm.

Of All Things Upon Earth That Bleed And Grow, A Herb Most Bruised Is Woman.