Pero la vida es corta: viviendo, todo falta; muriendo, todo sobra. - Lope de Vega

And what shall I say of the poets? Oh, this poor century of ours! In the coming year many of them will make their start, but not one of them is as bad as Cervantes, or idiotic enough to praise Don Quixote.

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?

In ancient days they said truth had fled to heaven: attacked on every side, it's not been heard of since. We live in different ages, non-Spaniards and ourselves: they in the age of silver, we in the age of brass.