Three things remain with us from paradise: stars, flowers and children.

The customs and fashions of men change like leaves on the bough, some of which go and others come.

When I had journeyed half of our life's way, I found myself within a shadowed forest, for I had lost the path that does not stray.

Nothing which is harmonized by the bond of the Muse can be changed from its own to another language without destroying its sweetness

The more perfect a thing is, the more susceptible to good and bad treatment it is.

At grief so deep the tongue must wag in vain; the language of our sense and memory lacks the vocabulary of such pain.

What shall one do with the verse, if he knows not That?