Perhaps out there, somewhere, someone is sighing for your absence; and with this thought, my soul begins to breathe.

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.

The aged love what is practical while impetuous youth longs only for what is dazzling.

You keep to your own ways and leave mine to me.

Books can warm the heart with friendly words and counsel, entering into a close relationship with us which is articulate and alive

Gold, silver, jewels, purple garments, houses built of marble, groomed estates, pious paintings, caparisoned steeds, and other things of this kind offer a mutable and superficial pleasure; books give delight to the very marrow of one's bones. They speak to us, consult with us, and join with us in a living and intense intimacy.

Perhaps out there, somewhere, someone is sighing for your absence; and with this thought, my soul begins to breathe.