I am the poet of the poor, because I was poor when I loved; since I could not give gifts, I gave words.

When I could find something to laugh about for 30 minutes, my grief lightened just enough to make the day bearable.

When I was young, I thought it is thunder that kills people. But when I learnt physics in the high school, I discovered that it is rather the lightning that does the killing. The voice of the thunder itself is just a noise. The lightning is the poise!

All other creatures look down toward the earth, but man was given a face so that might turn his eyes toward the stars and his gaze upon the sky.

Right it is to be taught even by the enemy.

And now the measure of my song is done: The work has reached its end; the book is mine, None shall unwrite these words: nor angry Jove, Nor war, nor fire, nor flood, Nor venomous time that eats our lives away. Then let that morning come, as come it will, When this disguise I carry shall be no more, And all the treacherous years of life undone, And yet my name shall rise to heavenly music, The deathless music of the circling stars. As long as Rome is the Eternal City These lines shall echo from the lips of men, As long as poetry speaks truth on earth, That immortality is mine to wear.