Sharp and fell remorse, the offspring of my sin! Why do you, O God, lacerate my heart so late? Why, O boding cries, that scream so close to me, – why do I listen to you now, and never heard you before?

How full of error is the judgment of mankind! They wonder at results when they are ignorant of the reasons.

Love is a feeling that comes into our hearts of our own choice for neither force nor harshness can limit the heart’s freedom.

If every man’s internal care Were written on his brow, How many would our pity share Who raise our envy now?

If our inward griefs were seen written on our brow, how many would be pitied who are now envied! [It., Se a ciascun l'interno affanno Si leggesse in fronte scritto, Quanti mai, che invidia fanno, Ci farebbero pieta!].

Every noble acquisition is attended with its risks; he who fears to encounter the one must not expect to obtain the other.

Love is a feeling that comes into our hearts of our own choice for neither force nor harshness can limit the heart's freedom.

Though the Indian ocean abounds in rich and rare gems, it does not boast a clearer sky nor more unruffled sea. If there be a shore that dreads not the fury of the faithless billows, it is some poor and narrow inlet unknown to the winds.

The aged oak upon the steep stands more firm and secure if assailed by angry winds; for if the winter bares its head, the more strongly it strikes its roots into the ground, acquiring strength as it loses beauty.

If the internal griefs of every man could be read, written on his forehead, how many who now excite envy would appear to be the objects of pity?