The excellence of every art is its intensity, capable of making all disagreeables evaporate, from their being in close relationship with beauty and truth.
Their woes gone by, and both to heaven upflown, To bow for gratitude before Jove's throne.
Everything that reminds me of her goes through me like a spear.
Life is but a day; A fragile dewdrop on its perilous way From a tree's summit.
I have so much of you in my heart.
How does the poet speak to men with power, but by being still more a man than they