Como las paga el vulgo, es justo hablarle en necio para darle gusto. - Lope de Vega

But life is short: while one lives, everything is lacking; when one is dead, everything is superfluous.

Lord, what am I, that, with unceasing care,
Thou didst seek after me, — that Thou didst wait,
Wet with unhealthy dews, before my gate,
And pass the gloomy nights of winter there?

To turn your face from clear proofs of deceit,
To drink poison as if it were a soothing liquor,
To disregard gain and delight in being injured.
To believe that heaven can lie contained in hell;
To devote your life and soul to being disillusioned;
This is love; whoever has tasted it, knows.