When the poet died his cat was put to death and mummified.
Five enemies of peace inhabit with us - avarice, ambition, envy, anger, and pride; if these were to be banished, we should infallibly enjoy perpetual peace.
And tears are heard within the harp I touch.
A short cut to riches is to subtract from our desires.
Death is a sleep that ends our dreaming. Oh, that we may be allowed to wake before death wakes us.
Often have I wondered with much curiosity as to our coming into this world and what will follow our departure.