That Which Had Pleased Me Once, Troubled

Thou Shall Know By Experience How Salt The Savor Is Of Others' Bread, And How Sad A Path It Is To Climb And Descend Another's Stairs.

I Found Myself Within A Forest Dark.

O Mortal Men, Be Wary Of How Ye Judge.

In That Part Of The Book Of My Memory Before The Which Is Little That Can Be Read, There Is A Rubric, Saying, Incipit Vita Nova. Under Such Rubric I Find Written Many Things; And Among Them The Words Which I Purpose To Copy Into This Little Book; If Not All Of Them, At The Least Their Substance.

Reason Flies When Following The Senses, On Clipped Wings.