My God grant me love for that which has splendor, but in this time of my life let me strive for attainable things.
Men are the dreams of a shadow.
Unsung, the noblest deed will die.
Finding that the middle condition of life is by far the happiest, I look with little favor upon that of princes.
Envy, the attendant of the empty mind.
O my soul, do not aspire to immortal life, but exhaust the limits of the possible.