Man has no greater enemy than himself. I have acted contrary to my sentiments and inclination; throughout our whole lives we do what we never intended, and what we proposed to do, we leave undone.
PETRARCHAnd tears are heard within the harp I touch.
More Petrarch Quotes
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To be able to say how much love, is love but little.
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Continued work and application form my soul’s nourishment. So soon as I commenced to rest and relax I should cease to live.
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I looked back at the summit of the mountain, which seemed but a cubit high in comparison with the height of human contemplation, were in not too often merged in the corruptions of the earth.
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I have taken pride in others, never in myself.
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Death is a sleep that ends our dreaming. Oh, that we may be allowed to wake before death wakes us.
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Mere elegance of language can produce at best but an empty renown.
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The greater I am, the greater shall be my efforts.
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For though I am a body of this earth, my firm desire is born from the stars.
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Nothing mortal is enduring, and there is nothing sweet which does not presently end in bitterness.
PETRARCH -
Books can warm the heart with friendly words and counsel, entering into a close relationship with us which is articulate and alive.
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Perhaps out there, somewhere, someone is sighing for your absence; and with this thought, my soul begins to breathe.
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Life in itself is short enough, but the physicians with their art, know to their amusement, how to make it still shorter.
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Great errors seldom originate but with men of great minds.
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Often on earth the gentlest heart is fain To feed and banquet on another’s woe.
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Love is the crowning grace of humanity.
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And tears are heard within the harp I touch.
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How quick the old woe follows a little bliss!
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He loves but lightly who his love can tell.
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I freeze and burn, love is bitter and sweet, my sighs are tempests and my tears are floods, I am in ecstasy and agony, I am possessed by memories of her and I am in exile from myself.
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Ruthless striving, overcomes everything.
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Do you suppose there is any living man so unreasonable that if he found himself stricken with a dangerous ailment he would not anxiously desire to regain the blessing of health?
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Sameness is the mother of disgust, variety the cure.
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Go, grieving rimes of mine, to that hard stone Whereunder lies my darling, lies my dear, And cry to her to speak from heaven’s sphere.
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Often have I wondered with much curiosity as to our coming into this world and what will follow our departure.
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Man has not a greater enemy than himself.
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I desire that death find me ready and writing, or if it please Christ, praying and intears.
PETRARCH