This was an easy matter with a man Oft in the wrong, and never on his guard; And even the wisest, do the best they can, Have moments, hours, and days… - Lord Byron

Sorrow is knowledge, those that know the most must mourn the deepest, the tree of knowledge is not the tree of life.

T is sweet to win, no matter how, one's laurels,
By blood or ink; 't is sweet to put an end
To strife; 't is sometimes sweet to have our quarrels,
Particularly with a tiresome friend:
Sweet is old wine in bottles, ale in barrels;
Dear is the helpless creature we defend
Against the world; and dear the schoolboy spot
We ne'er forget, though there we are forgot.

But sweeter still than this, than these, than all,
Is first and passionate Love — it stands alone,
Like Adam's recollection of his fall;
The Tree of Knowledge has been plucked — all 's known — And Life yields nothing further to recall
Worthy of this ambrosial sin, so shown,
No doubt in fable, as the unforgiven
Fire which Prometheus filched for us from Heaven.

al polvo volver, si vuelvo, pues del polvo surgí,
y entonces, por fin, nunca más se conmoverá mi corazón.