Lucky that man whose children make his happiness in life and not his grief, the anguished disappointment of his hopes.
Those who are held Wise among men and who search the reasons of things, are those who bring the most sorrow on themselves.
When two souls compose a single song, The muse fans Livid wrath before long.
Happiness is brief. It will not stay. God batters at its sails.
Dead men have no victory.
A sweet thing, for whatever time, to revisit in dreams the dear dad we have lost.