...like That Star Of The Waning Summer

Sweet Sleep Fell Upon His Eyelids, Unwakeful, Most Pleasant, The Nearest Like Death.

A Decent Boldness Ever Meets With Friends.

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.

Aries In His Many Fits Knows No Favorites.

The Lot Of Man-to Suffer And Die.