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For the years of my life are numbered, and I am leaving by the road of no return. (Job 16, 22)
My breathing is growing weaker and the gravediggers are gathering for me. (Job 17, 1)
So you must go bail for me to yourself, for which of them cares to clap his hand on mine? (Job 17, 3)
For you have shut their hearts to reason, hence not a hand is lifted. (Job 17, 4)
I have become a byword among foreigners, and a creature on whose face to spit, (Job 17, 6)
To the tomb, I cry, 'You are my father!' -- to the worm, 'You are my mother-you, my sister!' (Job 17, 14)
Where then is my hope? Who can see any happiness for me? (Job 17, 15)
What prevents you others from saying something? Think -- for it is our turn to speak! (Job 18, 2)
Why do you regard us as animals, considering us no more than brutes? (Job 18, 3)
Tear yourself to pieces if you will, but the world, for all your rage, will not turn to desert, the rocks will not shift from their places. (Job 18, 4)
His vigorous stride loses its power, his own designs falter. (Job 18, 7)
For into the net his own feet carry him, he walks into the snares. (Job 18, 8)
