Beauty is a fragile gift.

Envy feeds on the living, after death it rests, then the honor of a man protects him.

The glow of inspiration warms us; it is a holy rapture.

Grief is put to flight and assuaged by generous draughts.

Nothing is swifter than our years.

Nothing in the entire universe ever perishes, believe me, but things vary, and adopt a new form. The phrase being born is used for beginning to be something different from what one was before, while dying means ceasing to be the same. Though this thing may pass into that, and that into this, yet the sums of things remains unchanged.

What is now an act of reason, was but blind impulse.