The weather and my mood have little connection. I have my foggy and my fine days within me, my prosperity or misfortune has little to do with the matter.
Time heals griefs and quarrels for we change and are no longer the same persons. Neither the offender nor the offended are any more themselves.
Can anything be stupider than that a man has the right to kill me because he lives on the other side of a river and his ruler has a quarrel with mine, though I have not quarrelled with him?