My life is a lovely story, happy and full of incident.

Many, many steeples would have to be stacked one on top of another to reach from the bottom to the surface of the sea.

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

To travel is to live.

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

Death walks faster than the wind and never returns what he has taken.

Travelling expands the mind rarely.