None merits the name of Creator but God and the poet.
As shaking terrors from his blazing hair, a sanguine comet gleams through dusky air.
He, full of bashfulness and truth, loved much, hoped little, and desired naught.
Grave was the man in years, in looks, in word, his locks were grey, yet was his courage green.
True love cannot be found where it does not exist, nor can it be denied where it does.
Fortune rarely accompanies anyone to the door.