Life is a wounded stag in whom the fast-stuck arrows function as wings. - Luis de Góngora

The hours will hardly forgive you, those hours that are wearing away the days, those days that are gnawing away the years.

Longer than a winter's night for a man who is ill-wed.

Let merchants traverse seas and lands,
For silver mines and golden sands;
Whilst I beside some shadowy rill,
Just where its bubbling fountain swells,
Do sit and gather stones and shells,
And hear the tale the blackbird tells.