Sharp and fell remorse, the offspring of my sin! Why do you, O God, lacerate my heart so late? Why, O boding cries, that scream so close to me,--why do I listen to you now, and never heard you before? — Pietro Metastasio Copy Share Image
The pilot who is always dreading a rock or a tempest must not complain if he remain a poor fisherman. We must at times… — Pietro Metastasio Copy Share Image
If our inward griefs were written on our brows, how many who are envied now would be pitied. It would seem that they had… — Pietro Metastasio Copy Share Image
The canker which the trunk conceals is revealed by the leaves, the fruit, or the flower. — Pietro Metastasio Copy Share Image
The aged oak upon the steep stands more firm and secure if assailed by angry winds; for if the winter bares its head, the… — Pietro Metastasio Copy Share Image
The eye that gazes upon the sun sees not the orb it looks upon, confounded by the excess of its brightness. — Pietro Metastasio Copy Share Image
We are like vessels tossed on the bosom of the deep; our passions are the winds that sweep us impetuously forward; each pleasure is… — Pietro Metastasio Copy Share Image
It is the just decree of Heaven that a traitor never sees his danger till his ruin is at hand. — Pietro Metastasio Copy Share Image
If the internal griefs of every man could be read, written on his forehead, how many who now excite envy would appear to be… — Pietro Metastasio Copy Share Image
