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

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.

There is nothing more silly than a silly laugh.

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.

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.

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.