Those who seek for much are left in want of much. Happy is he to whom God has given, with sparing hand, as much as is enough.

Every old poem is sacred.

Be smart, drink your wine.

We hate merit while it is with us; when taken away from our gaze, we long for it jealously.

And take back ill-polished stanzas to the anvil.

This used to be among my prayers - a piece of land not so very large, which would contain a garden

We rarely find anyone who can say he has lived a happy life, and who, content with his life, can retire from the world like a satisfied guest.