Happiness never lays its finger on its pulse. If we attempt to steal a glimpse of its features it disappears.
Pleasure has no logic; it never treads in its own footsteps.
Trifles make up the happiness or the misery of mortal life.
Winter does not work only on a broad scale; he is careful in trifles.
My heart like moon-charmed waters, all unrest.
I would rather be remembered by a song than by a victory.