Oh blind! Oh ignorant, self-seeking cupidity which spurs us so in the short mortal life and steeps us so through all eternity!

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

I saw a point that shone with light so keen, the eye that sees it cannot bear its blazing; the star that is for us the smallest one would seem a moon if placed beside this point.

The heaven that rolls around cries aloud to you while it displays its eternal beauties, and yet your eyes are fixed upon the earth alone.

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

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.