I awoke one day to find myself famous.

I am no Platonist, I am nothing at all; but I would sooner be a Paulician, Manichean, Spinozist, Gentile, Pyrrhonian, Zoroastrian, than one of the seventy-two villainous sects who are tearing each other to pieces for the love of the Lord and hatred of each other.

Folly loves the martyrdom of fame.

My altars are the mountains and the ocean.

Grief should be the instructor of the wise; Sorrow is Knowledge.

In secret we met - In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? - With silence and tears

Be warm, be pure, be amorous, but be chaste.