Woe unto him that striveth with his Maker! Let the potsherd strive with the potsherds of the earth. Shall the clay say to him that fashioneth it, What makest thou? or thy work, He hath no hands?

And he took him a potsherd to scrape himself withal; and he sat down among the ashes.

Burning lips and a wicked heart are like a potsherd covered with silver dross.

My strength is dried up like a potsherd; and my tongue cleaveth to my jaws; and thou hast brought me into the dust of death.