They don’t listen to me, they don’t hear me, they don’t see me.

Two turtle doves will show thee Where my cold ashes lie And sadly murmuring tell thee How in tears I did die

Countless are, as the sand in the sea, the deep desires of men, and none resembles the other, and all of them, whether shameful, or great, in the beginning are obedient, but later become terrible masters over him.

What is stronger in us — passion or habit? Or are all the violent impulses, all the whirl of our desires and turbulent passions, only the consequence of our ardent age, and is it only through youth that they seem deep and shattering?

A word aptly uttered or written cannot be cut away by an axe.

Nothing could be more pleasant than to live in solitude, enjoy the spectacle of nature, and occasionally read some book.

There are people who exist in this world not like entities but like the speckles or spots on something.