What's saved affordsNo indication of what's lost.
Who seeks for aidMust show how service sought can be repaid.
There is purpose in pain,Otherwise it were devilish.
The devil, my friends, is a woman just now.'Tis a woman that reigns in Hell.
'Tis more braveTo live, than to die.
Do not think that years leave us and find us the same!
A wise man loses nothing, if he but save himself.
No man can lose what he never had.
Losers must have leave to speak.
That puts it not unto the touchTo win or lose it all.
But over all things brooding sleptThe quiet sense of something lost.
Wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss,But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.
Our wasted oil unprofitably burns,Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns.
Beaten paths are for beaten men.
Things that are not at all, are never lost.
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