Even His Griefs Are A Joy Long

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.

As Leaves On The Trees, Such Is The Life Of Man.

Which Would You Rather Be, A Conqueror In The Olympic Games, Or The Crier That Proclaims Who Are Conquerors?

It Is Not Good To Have A Rule Of Many.

I Only Hope Those Rumors I Hear About What Goes On In Prison Are Greatly Exaggerated.