Those things that are in the light we behold from darkness.
Yet a little while, and (the happy hour) will be over, nor ever more shall we be able to recall it.
The body searches for that which has injured the mind with love.
What once sprung from the earth sinks back into the earth.
From the midst of the very fountain of pleasure, something of bitterness arises to vex us in the flower of enjoyment.
Mother of Aeneas, pleasure of men and gods. -Aeneadum genetrix, hominum divomque voluptas