The act is judged of by the event.
If he should love deny him what he loves!
Neither can the wave that has passed by be recalled, nor the hour which has passed return again.
I am the poet of the poor, because I was poor when I loved; since I could not give gifts, I gave words.
The brave find a home in every land.
Time itself flows on with constant motion, just like a river: for no more than a river can the fleeting hour stand still. As wave is driven on by wave, and, itself pursued, pursues the one before, so the moments of time at once flee and follow, and are ever new.