Pain Lays Not Its Touch Upon A

The Holy Heaven Yearns To Wound The Earth, And Yearning Layeth Hold On The Earth To Join In Wedlock; The Rain, Fallen From The Amorous Heaven, Impregnates The Earth, And It Bringeth Forth For Mankind The Food Of Flocks And Herds And Demeter's Gifts; And From That Moist Marriage-rite The Woods Put On Their Bloom.

I, Schooled In Misery, Know Many Purifying Rites, And I Know Where Speech Is Proper And Where Silence.

Wiles And Deceit Are Female Qualities.

It Is An Ill Thing To Be The First To Bring News Of Ill.

Let There Be Wealth Without Tears; Enough For The Wise Man Who Will Ask No Further.