It is better to will the good than to know the truth.
PETRARCHSameness is the mother of disgust, variety the cure.
More Petrarch Quotes
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Great errors seldom originate but with men of great minds.
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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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And 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.
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Events appear sad, pleasant, or painful, not because they are so in reality, but because we believe them to be so and the light in which we look at them depends upon our own judgment.
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Great errors seldom originate but with men of great minds.
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I have friends whose society is delightful to me; they are persons of all countries and of all ages; distinguished in war, in council, and in letters; easy to live with, always at my command.
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Who over-refines his argument brings himself to grief
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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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Man has not a greater enemy than himself.
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Virtue is health, vice is sickness.
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Reality is always the foe of famous names.
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To begin with myself, then, the utterances of men concerning me will differ widely, since in passing judgment almost every one is influenced not so much by truth as by preference, and good and evil report alike know no bounds.
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The aged love what is practical while impetuous youth longs only for what is dazzling.
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The end of doubt is the beginning of repose.
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He loves but lightly who his love can tell.
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How fortune brings to earth the over-sure!
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Where you are is of no moment, but only what you are doing there. It is not the place that ennobles you, but you the place, and this only by doing that which is great and noble.
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Hitherto your eyes have been darkened and you have looked too much, yes, far too much, upon the things of earth. If these so much delight you what shall be your rapture when you lift your gaze to things eternal!
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Suspicion is the cancer of friendship.
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Sameness is the mother of disgust, variety the cure.
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Rarely do great beauty and great virtue dwell together.
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Wanting is not enough, long and you attain it.
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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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When the poet died his cat was put to death and mummified.
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A short cut to riches is to subtract from our desires.
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Hope is incredible to the slave of grief.
PETRARCH