'Tis not where we lie, but whence we fell; The loss of heaven's the greatest pain in hell.

What is life? A madness. What is life? An illusion, a shadow, a story. And the greatest good is little enough; for all life is a dream, and dreams themselves are only dreams.

One may know how to gain a victory, and know not how to use it.

When love is not madness, it is not love.

What law, what reason can deny that gift so sweet, so natural that God has given a stream, a fish, a beast, a bird?

But whether it be dream or truth, to do well is what matters. If it be truth, for truth's sake. If not, then to gain friends for the time when we awaken.

For man's greatest crime is to have been born.

These flowers, which were splendid and sprightly, waking in the dawn of the morning, in the evening will be a pitiful frivolity, sleeping in the cold night's arms.

Love that is not madness is not love.