Beaten paths are for beaten men.
Things that are not at all, are never lost.
Losers must have leave to speak.
Our wasted oil unprofitably burns,Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns.
Wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss,But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.
What's saved affordsNo indication of what's lost.
A wise man loses nothing, if he but save himself.
But over all things brooding sleptThe quiet sense of something lost.
That puts it not unto the touchTo win or lose it all.
No man can lose what he never had.
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