He loves but lightly who his love can tell.
And tears are heard within the harp I touch.
Great errors seldom originate but with men of great minds.
The end of doubt is the beginning of repose.
I freeze and burn, love is bitter and sweet, my sighs are tempests and my tears are floods, I am in ecstasy and agony, I am possessed by memories of her and I am in exile from myself.
Where are the numerous constructions erected by Agrippa, of which only the Pantheon remains? Where are the splendorous palaces of the emperors?