Scribblers are a self-conceited and self-worshipping race.
This used to be among my prayers - a piece of land not so very large, which would contain a garden
Music is an incitement to love.
That I make poetry and give pleasure - if I give pleasure - are because of you.
Alas! the fleeting years, how they roll on!
Who has courage to say no again and again to desires, to despise the objects of ambition, who is a whole in himself, smoothed and rounded.