Directly after God in heaven comes a Papa.
The taste of death is upon my lips. I feel something that is not of this earth.
I too had to work hard, so as not to have to work hard any longer.
I must give you a piece of intelligence that you perhaps already know, namely that the ungodly arch-villain Voltaire has died miserably like a dog, just like a brute. That is his reward!
Love guards the heart from the abyss.
I love it when an aria fits a singer as perfectly as a suit of well-tailored clothes.