Let Us Love Winter, For It Is

Desire Is Poison At Lunch And Wormwood At Dinner; Your Bed Is A Stone, Friendship Is Hateful And Your Fancy Is Always Fixed On One Thing.

With A Goose-quill And A Few Sheets Of Paper, I Mock Myself Of The Universe. They Say I Am The Son Of A Courtesan; It May Be So, But I Have The Heart Of A King. I Live Free, I Enjoy Myself, I Can Call Myself Happy.

I Am, Indeed, A King, Because I Know How To Rule Myself.

A High Heart Ought To Bear Calamities And Not Flee Them, Since In Bearing Them Appears The Grandeur Of The Mind And In Fleeing Them The Cowardice Of The Heart.

Why Should I Be Ashamed To Describe What Nature Was Not Ashamed To Create?