That loss is common would not make
My own less bitter, rather more:
Too common! Never morning read more

That loss is common would not make
My own less bitter, rather more:
Too common! Never morning wore
To evening, but some heart did break.

Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss
But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.

Great lords, wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss
But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.

One of the great penalties those of us who live our lives in full view of the public must pay read more

One of the great penalties those of us who live our lives in full view of the public must pay is the loss of that most cherished birthright of man's privacy.

No evil is without its compensation. The less money, the less trouble; the less favor, the less envy. Even in read more

No evil is without its compensation. The less money, the less trouble; the less favor, the less envy. Even in those cases which put us out of wits, it is not the loss itself, but the estimate of the loss that troubles us.

We have lost morals, justice, honor, piety and faith, and that
sense of shame which, once lost, can never read more

We have lost morals, justice, honor, piety and faith, and that
sense of shame which, once lost, can never be restored.
[Lat., Periere mores, jus, decus, pietas, fides,
Et qui redire nescit, cum perit, pudor.]

What you lend is lost; when you ask for it back, you may find a
friend made an enemy read more

What you lend is lost; when you ask for it back, you may find a
friend made an enemy by your kindness. If you begin to press him
further, you have the choice of two things--either to lose your
loan or lose your friend.
[Lat., Si quis mutuum quid dederit, sit pro proprio perditum;
Cum repetas, inimicum amicum beneficio invenis tuo.
Si mage exigere cupias, duarum rerum exoritur optio;
Vel illud, quod credideris perdas, vel illum amicum, amiseris.]

Every day I work so hardBringin' home my hard earned payTry to love you baby, but you push me away.

Every day I work so hardBringin' home my hard earned payTry to love you baby, but you push me away.

Our wasted oil unprofitably burns,
Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns.

Our wasted oil unprofitably burns,
Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns.

Things that are not at all, are never lost.

Things that are not at all, are never lost.