There is a gentle thought that often springs to life in me, because it speaks of you.

Reason flies When following the senses, on clipped wings.

At the midpoint on the journey of life, I found myself in a dark forest, for the clear path was lost.

I am made of God, through his Grace. Such that your misery touches me not, Nor does flame of that burning assail me.

This mountain is so formed that it is always wearisome when one begins the ascent, but becomes easier the higher one climbs.

This sorrow weighs upon the melancholy souls of those who lived without infamy or praise.

...Everything that is, desires to be. As we act, we unfold our being. Enjoyment naturally follows, for a thing desired always brings delight.