Torquato Tasso Quotations

Love is when he gives you a piece of your soul, that you never knew was missing.

True love cannot be found where it does not exist, nor can it be denied where it does.

The day of fortune is like a harvest day, We must be busy when the corn is ripe.

Any time not spent on love is wasted.

Love is when you don't have to be with another person to touch their heart!

Grave was the man in years, in looks, in word, his locks were grey, yet was his courage green.

None merits the name of Creator but God and the poet.

It is the fortunate who should extol fortune.

He, full of bashfulness and truth, loved much, hoped little, and desired naught.

As shaking terrors from his blazing hair, a sanguine comet gleams through dusky air.

A friend giveth sympathy in trouble.

Virtue's guard is labor; ease, her sleep.

They make their fortune who are stout and wise, Wit rules the heavens, discretion guides the skies. [Lat., Che sovente addivien che'l saggio e'l forte. Fabro a se stesso e di beata sorte.]

Horror itself in that fair scene looks gay, And joy springs up e'en in the midst of fear. [It., Bello in si bella vista anco e l'orrore, E di mezzo la tema esce il diletto.]

For when last need to desperation driveth, Who dareth most he wiseth counsel giveth. [It., Che spesso avvien che ne' maggior perigli Son piu audaci gli ottimi consigli.]

Not for no cold did freeze, Nor any cloud beguile Th'eternal flowering spring

O happy, golden age! Not for that rivers ran With streams of milk, and honey dropped from trees

A fool is he that comes to preach or prate, When men with swords their right and wrong debate. [It., Chi conta i colpi e la dovuta offesa, Mentr' arde la tenzon, misura e pesa?]

Women have tongues of craft, and hearts of guile, They will, they will not; fools that on them trust; For in their speech is death, hell in their smile. [It., Femmina e cosa garrula e fallace: Vuole e disvuole, e folle uom chi sen fida, Si tra se volge.]

Then amongst flowers and springs, Making delightful sport, Sat lovers without conflict, without flame

Lost is the time that you don't spend for love.

O subtle love! a thousand wiles thou hast, by humble suit, by service, or by hire, to win a maiden's hold,--a thing soon done, for nature framed all women to be won.

Fortune rarely accompanies anyone to the door.

Perhaps if only once you did enjoy The thousandth part of all the happiness A heart beloved enjoys, returning love, Repentant, you would surely sighing say, “All time is truly lost and gone Which is not spent in serving love.”