There is no greater sorrow than to recall in misery the time when we were happy.

We forget what we have heard if we do not write it down.

No sadness is greater than in misery to rehearse memories of joy.

In that book which is my memory, On the first page of the chapter that is the day when I first met you, Appear the words, ‘Here begins a new life’.

In that part of the book of my memory before the which is little that can be read, there is a rubric, saying, Incipit Vita Nova. Under such rubric I find written many things; and among them the words which I purpose to copy into this little book; if not all of them, at the least their substance.

In that part of the book of my memory before which little can be read, there is a heading, which says: ‘Incipit vita nova: Here begins the new life’.

At grief so deep the tongue must wag in vain; the language of our sense and memory lacks the vocabulary of such pain.