Nothing so difficult as a beginning In poesy, unless perhaps the end.

A thousand years may scare form a state. An hour may lay it in ruins.

Man marks the earth with ruin - his control stops with the shore.

Who then will explain the explanation?

Pleasure's a sin, and sometimes sin's a pleasure.

Such hath it been--shall be--beneath the sun The many still must labour for the one.

Let none think to fly the danger for soon or late love is his own avenger.