Were I to await perfection, my book would never be finished.
What centenarian has 36,000 days of pleasure?
What exists in the morning we cannot be certain of in the evening; what exists in the evening we cannot calculate upon for the next morning. The fortunes of men are as uncertain as the winds and clouds of heaven.
Union of capital is like union of fate.
As the chaff of fine rice.
Virtue practiced to be seen is not real virtue; vice which fears to be seen is real vice.
Water that has reached its level does not flow.
Wealth is but dung, useful only when spread.
Unjust gains cannot enrich those who are fated to be poor.
Like a funeral paper god.
Virtuous children and official emolument who does not desire? Alas! These are not the theme of your luckless horoscope.
We are not so much concerned if you are slow as when you come to a halt.
Wealth is but dung; a face is worth thousands of gold.
Unjustly gotten happiness must be followed by calamity.
He only hopes that his calabash will grow as large as heaven.
Virtuous for ten years is still not enough; evil for one day is too much already.
We can deal with ready money customers; those who want credit may spare their breath.
Wealth is but dung; Benevolence and Righteousness are worth thousands of gold.
Unjustly-gotten wealth is but snow sprinkled with hot water; lands improperly obtained are but sandbanks in a stream.
Vain is the sacrifice of an unfilial son.
Virtuous men are a kingdom?s treasure.
We can?t secure on going to bed that we shall get up again.