All right, then, I'll say it: Dante makes me sick.
With a few flowers in my garden, half a dozen pictures and some books, I live without envy.
But life is short: while one lives, everything is lacking; when one is dead, everything is superfluous.
Without love, the world itself would not survive.
The fire of love and the cold of time, deprive my sweet love of his peace of mind.
Harmony is pure love, for love is a concerto.