The ivy of the old age begins at the feet that hurt. (Le lierre de la vieillesse - Commence aux pieds qui blessent.)

Shoe strangles the foot. But it advances. (La chaussure étrangle le pied. - Mais elle fait avancer)

The dragon spits fire, what extinguishes its tears. When we live in rancor, we are born to be old. (Le dragon crache du feu, - Ce qui éteint ses larmes. - Quand on vit de rancune, - On naît pour être vieux.)

The work trains the youth. I have a start of old age ... (Le travail forme la jeunesse. - J'ai un début de vieillesse ...)

Oh, a dainty plant is the ivy green, That creepeth o'er ruins old! Of right choice food are his meals I ween, In his cell so lone and cold. . . . . Creeping where no life is seen, A rare old plant is the ivy green.

The black clouds make the black sea. (Les nuages noirs - Font la mer noire)”