Keď zhrnú kocky, keď už skončia zaru, porazený sám dumá o pohrome a skúma vrh, čo bol by viedol k zdaru ‒ no celý dav i ďalej s víťazom je: ten odza… - Dante Alighieri

No greater grief than to remember days
Of joy, when misery is at hand. That kens
Thy learn’d instructor. Yet so eagerly 120
If thou art bent to know the primal root,
From whence our love gat being, I will do
As one, who weeps and tells his tale. One day,
For our delight we read of Lancelot, 4
How him love thrall’d. Alone we were, and no 125
Suspicion near us. Oft-times by that reading
Our eyes were drawn together, and the hue
Fled from our alter’d cheek. But at one point
Alone we fell. When of that smile we read,
The wished smile so raptorously kiss’d 130
By one so deep in love, then he, who ne’er
From me shall separate, at once my lips
All trembling kiss’d. The book and writer both
Were love’s purveyors. In its leaves that day
We read no more.

There is no greater sorrow than to recall happiness in times of misery.

Love, that allows no loved one to be excused from loving, seized me so fiercely with desire for him, it still will not leave me, as you can see. Love led us to one death.