of lances

Usually found the worst wine in the
taverns with showy signs

Vagabond knaves had already been put to
the torture

Very hard to imagine nothingness

Virtues are punished in this world

Voice of the senses, which drew them
together, will soon be mute

Wait, child! What is life but waiting?

Waiting is the merchant's wisdom

Wakefulness may prolong the little term
of life

War is a perversion of nature

We live for life, not for death

We quarrel with no one more readily
than with the benefactor

We each and all are waiting

We've talked a good deal of love with
our eyes already

Welcome a small evil when it barred the
way to a greater one

Were we not one and all born fools

Wet inside, he can bear a great deal of
moisture without

What had formerly afforded me pleasure
now seemed shallow

What changes so quickly as joy and
sorrow

What are we all but puny children?

What father does not find something to
admire in his child

Whatever a man would do himself, he
thinks others are capable of

When love has once taken firm hold of a
man in riper years

When a friend refuses to share in joys

When men-children deem maids to be weak
and unfit for true sport

When hate and revenge speak, gratitude
shrinks timidly

When you want to strike me again,
mother, please take off

Whether the form of our benevolence
does more good or mischief

Whether man were the best or the worst
of created beings

Whether the historical romance is ever
justifiable

Who watches for his neighbour's faults
has a hundred sharp eyes

Who can point out the road that another
will take

Who can be freer than he who needs
nothing

Who only puts on his armor when he is
threatened

Who does not struggle ward, falls back

Who gives great gifts, expects great
gifts again

Who do all they are able and enjoy as
much as they can get

Who can take pleasure in always seeing
a gloomy face?

Who can prop another's house when his
own is falling

Who can hope to win love that gives
none

Whoever condemns, feels himself
superior

Whoever will not hear, must feel

Wide world between the purpose and the
deed

Wise men hold fast by the ever young
present

Without heeding the opinion of mortals

Woman who might win the love of a
highly-gifted soul (Pays for it)

Woman's disapproving words were blown
away by the wind

Woman's hair is long, but her wit is
short

Women are i