Well, yes: people write poems when they are in love, but a wise man will not print them.

I covet honour in the same way as a miser covets gold.

I would give gladly all the hundreds of years that I have to live, to be a human being only for one day, and to have the hope of knowing the happiness of that glorious world above the stars.

Life is like a beautiful melody, only the lyrics are messed up.

When the bird of the heart begins to sing, too often will reason stop up her ears.

But shouldn't all of us on earth give the best we have to others and offer whatever is in our power?

Human beings, on the contrary, have a soul which lives forever, lives after the body has been turned to dust. It rises up through the clear, pure air beyond the glittering stars.