Air, I should explain, becomes wind when it is agitated.

From the very fountain of enchantment there arises a taste of bitterness to spread anguish amongst the flowers.

For fools admire and love those things they see hidden in verses turned all upside down, and take for truth what sweetly strokes the ears and comes with sound of phrases fine imbued.

The drops of rain make a hole in the stone not by violence but by oft falling.

In the midst of the fountain of wit there arises something bitter, which stings in the very flowers.

You alone govern the nature of things. Without you nothing emerges into the light of day, without you nothing is joyous or lovely.

There is nothing that exists so great or marvelous that over time mankind does not admire it less and less.