Stop wishing to merit anyone's gratitude or thinking that anyone can become grateful.
So a maiden, whilst she remains untouched, so long is she dear to her own; when she has lost her chaste flower with sullied body, she remains neither lovely to boys nor dear to girls.
Oh, this age! How tasteless and ill bred it is!
For the godly poet must be chaste himself, but there is no need for his verses to be so.
I hate and love. You ask, perhaps, how can that be? I know not, but I feel the agony.
I hate and I love. And if you ask me how, I do not know: I only feel it, and I am torn in two.