The radiant sun sends from above ten thousand blessings down, nor is he set so high for show alone.

O Love! thou bane of the most generous souls! Thou doubtful pleasure, and thou certain pain.

Who to a woman trusts his peace of mind, Trusts a frail bark, with a tempestuous wind.

Shall Nature, erring from her first command, self-preservation, fall by her own hand?

Of all the kind of pains, the greatest pain is to love and to love in vain.

There is no heaven like mutual love.

Patience is the virtue of an ass, who treads beneath his burden and complains not.