He who awaits the call, but sees the need, Already sets his spirit to refuse it.
A man's renown is like the hue of grass, Which comes and goes.
A backward glance can often lift the heart.
Like the lark that soars in the air, first singing, then silent, content with the last sweetness that satiates it, such seemed to me that image, the imprint of the Eternal Pleasure.
There is no greater pain than to remember, in our present grief, past happiness.
From there we came outside and saw the stars