I who once wrote songs with keen delight am now by sorrow driven to take up melancholy measures. Wounded Muses tell me what I must write, and elegiac verses bathe my face with real tears. Not even terror could drive from me these faithful companions of my long journey. Poetry, which was once the glory of my happy and flourishing youth, is still my comfort in this misery of my old age.
BoethiusNothing is miserable but what is thought so, and contrariwise, every estate is happy if he that bears it be content.
BoethiusOne's virtue is all that one truly has, because it is not imperiled by the vicissitudes of fortune.
BoethiusLove has three kinds of origin, namely: suffering, friendship and love. A human love has a corporal and intellectual origin.
Boethius