Sublime

but the Gods On man bestow not all their gifts at once;

We shine with brightness. And I who am here dissembled Proffer my deeds to oblivion, and my love To the posterity of the desert and the fruit of the gourd.

Half our human effort is now wasted on mere transit, transport, and exchange; the commonwealth is a clearing-house of cases we never open and presents we never enjoy.

in the Italian film The Decameron, stories are told by young men and women trapped in a villa outside Florence to escape the Black Death.