What's saved affordsNo indication of what's lost.
There is purpose in pain,Otherwise it were devilish.
Only by knowledge of that which is not thyself, shall thyself be learned.
The first wan cowslip, wetWith tears of the first morn.
'Tis more braveTo live, than to die.
That puts it not unto the touchTo win or lose it all.
Losers must have leave to speak.
Beaten paths are for beaten men.
No man can lose what he never had.
Our wasted oil unprofitably burns,Like hidden lamps in old sepulchral urns.
Things that are not at all, are never lost.
Wise men ne'er sit and wail their loss,But cheerly seek how to redress their harms.
But over all things brooding sleptThe quiet sense of something lost.
A wise man loses nothing, if he but save himself.
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