Not At All Similar Are The Race

How Delicate Her Feet Who Shuns The Ground, Stepping A-tiptoe On The Heads Of Men.

All Right, Let's Not Panic. I'll Make The Money By Selling One Of My Livers. I Can Get By With One.

All Things Are In The Hand Of Heaven, And Folly, Eldest Of Jove's Daughters, Shuts Men's Eyes To Their Destruction. She Walks Delicately, Not On The Solid Earth, But Hovers Over The Heads Of Men To Make Them Stumble Or To Ensnare Them.

The Whims Of Youth Break All The Rules.

Earth Sounds My Wisdom, And High Heaven My Fame.