More liberty begets desire of more; The hunger still increases with the store
For age but tastes of pleasures youth devours.
The perverseness of my fate is such that he's not mine because he's mine too much.
I strongly wish for what I faintly hope; like the daydreams of melancholy men, I think and think in things impossible, yet love to wander in that golden maze.
But dying is a pleasure / When living is a pain.
Lucky men are favorites of Heaven.