No man, my lord, should make a vow, for if
He ever swears he will not do a thing.
For death is gain to him whose life, like mine, is full of misery
SophoclesThe stubbornest of wills
Are soonest bended, as the hardest iron,
O'er-heated in the fire to brittleness,
Flies soonest into fragments, shivered through.
When misfortune comes,
The wisest even lose their mother wit
A friend in word is never friend of mine.
SophoclesThe working of the mind discover oft
Dark deeds in darkness schemed, before the act.
More hateful still the miscreant who seeks
When caught, to make a virtue of a crime.
For e'en the bravest spirits run away
When they perceive death pressing on life's heels.
Know'st not whate'er we do is done in love?
SophoclesLove resistless in fight, all yield at a glance of thine eye,
Love who pillowed all night on a maiden's cheek dost lie,
Over the upland holds. Shall mortals not yield to thee?
Cling not to one mood,
And deemed not thou art right, all others wrong.
For whoso thinks that wisdom dwells with him,
That he alone can speak or think alright,
Such oracles are empty breath when tried.
The wisest man will let himself be swayed
By other's wisdom and relax in time.
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