Let me not then die ingloriously and without a struggle, but let me first do some great thing that shall be told among men hereafter.
Like the generations of leaves, the lives of mortal men. Now the wind scatters the old leaves across the earth, now the living timber bursts with the new buds and spring comes round again. And so with men: as one generation comes to life, another dies away.
Everything is more beautiful because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now. We will never be here again.
…There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of Longing, the lover’s whisper, irresistible – magic to make the sanest man go mad.
Hateful to me as the gates of Hades is that man who hides one thing in his heart and speaks another.