The world is arranged in such a way that the daftest sayings have their truth, and if a man thinks that’s enough, it’s by no means enough. Man supposes, God disposes, and the jug goes to the well every day til it breaks.
“Weep for the dead, for they have lost this light;
And weep for me, lost in an endless night.
Or mourn, or make a marble verse for me,
Who writ for many. Benedicte.”