Fantastic tyrant of the amorous heart. How hard thy yoke, how cruel thy dart. Those escape your anger who refuse your sway, and those are punished most, who most obey.
Who walks the fastest, but walks astray, is only furthest from his way.
For, when with beauty we can virtue join, We paint the semblance of a form divine.
And ’tis remarkable that they talk most who have the least to say.
They talk most who have the least to say.
Cured yesterday of my disease, I died last night of my physician.
Hope is but the dream of those who wake.