Light in the streets, shadows in the house.
Laughing wife, crying purse.
Old debts are never paid, and the new ones get old easily.
Better a devil you know than a hundred strangers.
He who lives on illusions, dies of disillusion.
God writes on crooked lines.
None of us knows who we are.
A good guitarist will play on one string.
Become famous, then go to sleep.
Hens perched on top will shit on those below.
Old love and wood will burn as soon as they get the chance.
Such is the fate of the sheep: either shorn or roasted.
Widows weep but they look for another husband.
For our sins god has created three enemies for us: mice in the house, the fox in the mountains, and a priest in our village.
He who prays a lot is afraid of something.
