At some point, you no longer feel pain. Sensation disappears and reason is dulled, until you lose all grasp of time and place.

He who awaits much can expect little.

Ah, me, if this is love, then how it torments.

Four geological eras had to pass so that human beings would be able to outsing the birds and die for love.

I plead youth as a mitigating circumstance.

Do not allow me to forget you

We'll grow old waiting.