Love remains a secret even when spoken, for only a true lover truly knows that he is loved.

The artist is the lover of nature; therefore he is her slave and her master.

Alas, why are my nights all thus lost? Ah, why do I ever miss his sight whose breath touches my sleep?

The echo mocks her origin to prove she is the original.

Ah, thou hast made my heart captive in the endless meshes of thy music, my master!

My heart, the bird of the wilderness, has found its sky in your eyes. They are the cradle of the morning, they are the kingdom of the stars. My songs are lost in their depths. Let me but soar in that sky, in its lonely immensity. Let me but cleave its clouds and spread wings in its sunshine.

The past is always with us, for nothing that once was time can ever depart.