A Prosperous Fool Is A Grievous Burden.

The Seed Of Mortals Broods O'er Passing Things, And Hath Nought Surer Than The Smoke-cloud's Shadow.

Against Necessity, Against Its Strength, No One Can Fight And Win.

To Be Fortunate Is God, And More Than God To Mortals.

On Me The Tempest Falls. It Does Not Make Me Tremble. O Holy Mother Earth, O Air And Sun, Behold Me. I Am Wronged.

There Is No Disgrace In An Enemy Suffering Ill At An Enemy's Hand, When You Hate Mutually.