Ere land and sea and the all-covering sky Were made, in the whole world the countenance Of nature was the same, all one, well named Chaos, a raw and undivided mass, Naught but a lifeless bulk, with warring seeds Of ill-joined elements compressed together.
Wherever I look there is nothing but the image of death.
Time is a stream which glides smoothly on and is past before we know.
Our native soil draws all of us, by I know not what sweetness, and never allows us to forget.
You who seek an end of love, love yields to business: be busy, and you will be safe.
What is now reason was formerly impulse or instinct.