Ceza kaldırılabilir; ama suç insanın içinde sonsuza kadar yaşar.

And besides, we lovers fear everything

Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph that liv'st unseen
Within thy airy shell
By slow Meander's margent green,
And in the violet-imbroider'd vale
Where the love-lorn nightingale
Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well:
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair
That likest thy Narcissus are?

He's at war with himself. Why doesn't he surrender to his feelings and stop fighting himself? He has hang-ups that I must cut him loose from.

Perfer et obdura; dolor hic tibi proderit olim.

It is the poor man who'll ever count his flock.