A man's renown is like the hue of grass, Which comes and goes.

How come I never meet any nice girls?

O foolish anxiety of wretched man, how inconclusive are the arguments which make thee beat thy wings below!

Where the way is hardest, there go thou; Follow your own path and let people talk.

To run over better waters the little vessel of my genius now hoists her sails, as she leaves behind her a sea so cruel.

No man may be so cursed by priest or pope but what the Eternal Love may still return while any thread of green lives on in hope.

There sighs, lamentations and loud wailings resounded through the starless air, so that at first it made me weep; strange tongues, horrible language, words of pain, tones of anger, voices loud and hoarse, and with these the sound of hands, made a tumult which is whirling through that air forever dark, and sand eddies in a whirlwind.