What is love, if it can calculate and provide against its own decay?
Nothing recalls the past like music.
Love is the emblem of eternity; it confounds all notion of time.
I am glad that I am not a man, for then I should have to marry a woman.
All music, even if its occasion be a gay one, renders us pensive.
[On Italian:] One may almost call it a language that talks of itself, and always seems more witty than its speakers.