Man blindly works the will of fate.
Nature takes no account of even the most reasonable of human excuses.
The compulsion of fate is bitter.
This world is run with far too tight a rein for luck to interfere. Fortune sells her wares; she never gives them. In some form or other, we pay for her favors; or we go empty away.
Fate keeps on happening.
There is no armor against fate.
Destiny waits alike for the free man as well as for him enslaved by another's might.
Events are called inevitable only after they have occurred.
Beyond this day, no thinking person could fail to see what would happen.
It is useless, after all, to complain against inexorable reality.
It is the destiny of mint to be crushed.
