And yet, and yet, in these our ghostly lives, Half night, half day, half sleeping, half awake, How if our waking life, like that of sleep, Be all a dream in that eternal life To which we wake not till we sleep in death

A friar who asks alms for God's sake begs for two.

The heart is an astrologer that always divines the truth.

These flowers, which were splendid and sprightly, waking in the dawn of the morning, in the evening will be a pitiful frivolity, sleeping in the cold night's arms.

The dower of great beauty has always been misfortune, since happiness and beauty do not agree together.

What law, what reason can deny that gift so sweet, so natural that God has given a stream, a fish, a beast, a bird?

When love is not madness, it is not love.