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

I can imagine no greater misfortune for a cultured people than to see in the hands of the rulers not only the civil, but also the religious power.

What women say to lovers, you'll agree, One writes on running water or on air.

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.

Ah, what is more blessed than to put cares away, when the mind lays by its burden, and tired with labor of far travel we have come to our own home and rest on the couch we longed for? This it is which alone is worth all these toils.

I hate and I love, and who can tell me why?

Stop wishing to merit anyone's gratitude or thinking that anyone can become grateful.