To have found you is a dear happiness; and to be Apollo's son is beyond all my hopes; but there is something I want to say to you alone. Come; this is a private matter between us two - anything you tell me shall be as secret as the grave.

The unrighteous are never really fortunate.

When two souls compose a single song, The muse fans Livid wrath before long.

Cleverness is not wisdom.

There is something in the pang of change more than the heart can bear, unhappiness remembering happiness.

Time will discover everything to posterity; it is a babbler, and speaks even when no question is put.

May he die with no joy at his end, The man who won't be troubled To unlock the keys of his heart and make a friend.