How does it happen that such sweet fruit is plucked from the bitterness of life, from groans, tears, sighs, and lamentations? Is it the hope that you will hear us that sweetens it?
I was wretched; and every soul is wretched that is fettered in the friendship of mortal things—it is torn to pieces when it loses them, and then realizes the misery which it had even before it lost them.
And what did it profit me that I could read and understand for myself all the books I could get in the so-called liberal arts when I was actually a worthless slave of wicked lust?