«Our love is like spring and winter..
Just when we think it has blossomed..
The coldness of pride comes to wither what has bloomed.» «حُبُّنَا كَالرَّبِيعِ وَالشِّتَاءِ..
فِي حِينِ نَظُنُّ أَنَّهُ تَفَتَّحَ..
تَأْتِي بُرُودَةُ الكِبْرِيَاءِ لِتُذْبِلَ مَا أَزْهَرَ مِنْهُ.»
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