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It deserves neither quarter nor sympathy; but as we can never reconcile it let our rule of conduct be to scorn it with a good heart, and as our happiness and glory is torture to it we may rejoice in its sufferings: Den Neid wirst nimmer du versöhnen; So magst du ihn getrost verhöhnen. Dein Glück, dein Ruhm ist ihm ein Leiden: Magst drum an seiner Quaal dich weiden.
There has not been one but many a Petrarch, who, failing to have his love requited, has been obliged to drag through life as if his feet were either fettered or carried a leaden weight, and give vent to his sighs in a lonely forest; nevertheless there was only one Petrarch who possessed the true poetic instinct, so that Goethe's beautiful lines are true of him: "Und wenn der Mensch in seiner Quaal verstummt, Gab mir ein Gott, zu sagen, wie ich leide."
And in the middle of the Jew's Mouth, which was a scant six hundred yards across at its widest, the Folly Bay No. 5 swung on her anchor chain. A tubby cannery tender lay alongside. The crews were busy with picaroons forking salmon out of the seiner into the tender's hold. The flip-flop of the fish sounded distinctly in that quiet place.
They whipped the water white now tens of thousands of them. I don't believe that the oldest seiner there didn't feel his heart beat faster the first mackerel of the year. "And Lord knows, maybe a couple of hundred barrels," and the skipper's eyes shone it meant a lot to him. And some of the men began to talk like children, they were so pleased.
To her mind it was more affectionate, and looked better than if he had written 'Seiner Hochwohlgeboren Herrn Greif von Greifenstein. She looked closely at the thing, turning it over and examining it with the utmost attention. But there was nothing worth noticing beyond what she saw at first.
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