I am not one of those who left the land to the mercy of its enemies. Their flattery leaves me cold, my songs are not for them to praise.

... he is rewarded with a form of eternal childhood, with the bounty and vigilance of the stars, the whole world was his inheritance and he shared it with everyone.

I should be proud to have my memory graced, but only if the monument be placed... here, where I endured three hundred hours in line before the implacable iron bars.

The word dropped like a stone on my still living breast. Confess: I was prepared, am somehow ready for the test.

You will hear thunder and remember me, And think: she wanted storms. The rim Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson, And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.

Your voice is wild and simple. You are untranslatable Into any one tongue.

If you were music I would listen to you ceaselessly And my low spirits would brighten up.