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.
Wealth serves for heroism; wine for bravery.
Unjustly-gotten wealth will go unjustly.
Very fond of bragging.
Wait long, strike fast.
We count our miseries carefully, and accept our blessings without much thought.
Weather varies every hundred miles.
Unless we change direction, we are likely to wind up where we are headed.
Like one who has drawn out his muscles.
Wait till the Yellow Eiver becomes clear, and how old will you be?
We dare not injure the bodies received from our parents.
Unless you have business never go up to the temple of the Three Precious Ones.
To rub away an iron ink-slab.