We suffer by our proximity. [Who get a blow intended for another.]
The poet's labors are a work of joy, and require peace of mind.
Devouring Time and envious Age, all things yield to you; and with lingering death you destroy, step by step, with venomed tooth whatever you attack.
Judgement of beauty can err, what with the wine and the dark.
What is reason now was passion heretofore.
Bear patiently with a rival.