My poverty is not complete: it lacks me.
All the suns labor to kindle your flame and a microbe puts it out.
My truths do not last long in me. Not as long as those that are not mine.
Yes, I will go. I would rather grieve over your absence than over you.
I began my comedy as its only actor and I come to the end as its only spectator.
If those who owe us nothing gave us nothing, how poor we would be.