For In All Adversity Of Fortune The

I Who Once Wrote Songs With Keen Delight Am Now By Sorrow Driven To Take Up Melancholy Measures. Wounded Muses Tell Me What I Must Write, And Elegiac Verses Bathe My Face With Real Tears. Not Even Terror Could Drive From Me These Faithful Companions Of My Long Journey. Poetry, Which Was Once The Glory Of My Happy And Flourishing Youth, Is Still My Comfort In This Misery Of My Old Age.

Nunc Fluens Facit Tempus,nunc Stans Facit Aeternitatum.(the Now That Passes Produces Time, The Now That Remains Produces Eternity.)

He Who Is Virtuous Is Wise; And He Who Is Wise Is Good; And He Who Is Good Is Happy.

Who Would Give A Law To Lovers? Love Is Unto Itself A Higher Law.

Contemplate The Extent And Stability Of The Heavens, And Then At Last Cease To Admire Worthless Things.