I will be gone from here and sing my songs/ In the forest wilderness where the wild beasts are,/ And carve in letters on the little trees/ The story of my love, and as the trees/ Will grow letters too will grow, to cry/ In a louder voice the story of my love.
Come what may, all bad fortune is to be conquered by endurance.
That man is the most loyal who aims at the noblest motive, and that motive the public good.
Confidence cannot find a place wherein to rest in safety.
Who can blind lover's eyes?
I feel again a spark of that ancient flame.