Consider the sea's listless chime: Time's self it is, made audible.

I, answering in the end, began: 'Alas, how many yearning thoughts, what great desire, have lead them through such sorrow to their fate?

No sorrow is deeper than the remembrance of happiness when in misery.

I found myself within a forest dark, for the straightfoward pathway had been lost. Ah me! How hard a thing is to say, what was this forest savage, rough, and stern, which in the very thought renews the fear. So bitter is it, death is little more.

He is, most of all, l'amor che move il sole e l'altre stelle.

Give unto us this day the daily manna Without which, in this desert where we dwell, He must go backward who would most advance.

The wisest are the most annoyed at the loss of time.