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When humans find virtue in their midst, they imitate it. When virtue is gone, they long for its return. In every age, virtue wins the contest in which the prizes are unstained. It wears the victory crown, riding in triumph in the victory parade.

Even though the ungodly have many children, none of them will amount to anything. Those bastard saplings will never put their roots down deep or be firmly established. They may shoot up for a time like trees with lots of new branches, but the wind will shake them with ease, and the wind’s force will uproot the whole tree.

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