¡Oh raza humana, nacida para remontar vuelo!, ¿por qué el menor soplo de viento te hace caer? - Dante Alighieri

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.

For Heaven's justice goads them on, that fear is turned into desire. Hence ne'er hath past Good spirit.

There is no greater sorrow then to recall our times of joy in wretchedness.