The vows that woman makes to her fond lover are only fit to be written on air or on the swiftly passing stream.

For the godly poet must be chaste himself, but there is no need for his verses to be so.

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.

There is nothing more silly than a silly laugh.

But you shall not escape my iambics.

Brother, hello and good-bye. Frater, ave atque vale

I hate and love. You ask, perhaps, how can that be? I know not, but I feel the agony.