Silkworms in spring will weave until they die, and candles will drain the wick every night.
Look at a thousand fingers with a frown.
Tear it to pieces at all costs, leaving only innocence on earth.
After picking flowers into honey, for whom you work hard and for whom you are sweet.
But before he conquered, he died, and since then the heroes have been crying on their coats.
Give someone a rose, and your hands will smell good.