As we to the brutes, poets are to us.
We are betrayed by what is false within
Friendship, I fancy, means one heart between two.
Not till the fire is dying in the grate, Look we for any kinship with the stars.
The future not being born, my friend, we will abstain from baptizing it.
Prepare, You lovers, to know Love a thing of moods: Not like hard life, of laws.