The wisest are the most annoyed at the loss of time. - Dante Alighieri

Whoever is so misguided as to think that the place of his birth is the most delightful spot under the sun may also believe that his own language — his mother tongue, that is — is pre-eminent among all others; and, as a result he may believe that his language was also Adam’s. To me, however, the whole world is a homeland, like the sea to fish — though I drank from the Arno before cutting my teeth, and love Florence so much that, because I loved her suffer exile unjustly — and I will weight the balance of my judgment more with reason than with [sensation].

Time and again the thought comes to my mind
of the dark condition Love imparts to me;
then the pity of it strikes me, and I ask:
“Could ever anyone have felt the same?”
For Love’s attack is so precipitous
that life itself all but abandons me:
nothing survives except one lonely spirit,
allowed to live because it speaks of you. With hope of help to come I gather courage,
and deathly languid, drained of all defenses,
I come to you expecting to be healed;
and if I raise my eyes to look at you,
within my heart a tremor starts to spread,
driving out life, stopping my pulses’ beat.

He who knows most grieves most for wasted time.