Death is a sleep that ends our dreaming. Oh, that we may be allowed to wake before death wakes us.
PETRARCHDeath is a sleep that ends our dreaming. Oh, that we may be allowed to wake before death wakes us.
PETRARCHWho naught suspects is easily deceived.
PETRARCHDeath had his grudge against me, and he got up in the way, like an armed robber, with a pike in his hand.
PETRARCHYou keep to your own ways and leave mine to me.
PETRARCHSameness is the mother of disgust, variety the cure.
PETRARCHOften have I wondered with much curiosity as to our coming into this world and what will follow our departure.
PETRARCHWhat name to call thee by, O virgin fair, I know not, for thy looks are not of earth And more than mortal seems thy countenances.
PETRARCHI 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.
PETRARCHAn equal doom clipp’d Time’s blest wings of peace.
PETRARCHAnd I live on, but in grief and self-contempt, Left here without the light I loved so much, In a great tempest and with shrouds unkempt.
PETRARCHHope is incredible to the slave of grief.
PETRARCHThe greater I am, the greater shall be my efforts.
PETRARCHI would have preferred to have been born in any other time than our own.
PETRARCHPerhaps out there, somewhere, someone is sighing for your absence; and with this thought, my soul begins to breathe.
PETRARCHSameness is the mother of disgust, variety the cure.
PETRARCHReality is always the foe of famous names.
PETRARCH