“They are scraps of wood floating on the water—useless, cursed junk, good for nothing.As surely as snow melts under the hot, summer sun,sinners disappear in the grave.The womb has forgotten them, worms have relished them—nothing that is evil lasts.Unscrupulous,they prey on those less fortunate.However much they strut and flex their muscles,there’s nothing to them. They’re hollow.They may have an illusion of security,but God has his eye on them.They may get their brief successes,but then it’s over, nothing to show for it.Like yesterday’s newspaper,they’re used to wrap up the garbage.You’re free to try to prove me a liar,but you won’t be able to do it.”