Away with you, water, destruction of wine!
My mind's sunk so low, Claudia, because of you, wrecked itself on your account so bad already, that I couldn't like you if you were the best of women, -or stop loving you, no matter what you do.
But you shall not escape my iambics.
Better a sparrow, living or dead, than no birdsong at all.
Oh, this age! How tasteless and ill bred it is!
I hate and love. You ask, perhaps, how can that be? I know not, but I feel the agony.