“Don’t cry upon your losses Don’t measure today with tomorows Don’t trust to be passed and coming day believe in now – and be happy today.”

Thy Return is as another Sun to Heaven; a new Rose blooming in the Garden of the Soul.

Justice is the soul of the universe.

We are thinking about bad only those who are worse than we are, and those who are better than us … I’m just not up to us … One does not follow it than smell roses. Another of the bitter herbs will produce honey. Give bread to one – will remember forever. Another life donation – do not understand.

Wake! For the Sun, who scatter’d into flight The Stars before him from the Field of Night, Drives Night along with them from Heav’n, and strikes The Sultan’s Turret with a Shaft of Light.

So when that Angel of the darker Drink, at last shall find you by the river-brink, And, offering his Cup, invite your Soul forth to your Lips to quaff-you shall not shrink.

The wine-cup is the little silver well, Where truth, if truth there be, doth dwell.

How sad, a heart that does not know how to love, that does not know what it is to be drunk with love. If you are not in love, how can you enjoy the blinding light of the sun, the soft light of the moon?

Awake, my Little ones, and fill the Cup Before Life’s Liquor in its Cup be dry.

Alas, that Spring should vanish with the Rose! That Youths sweet-scented Manuscript should close!

Tomorrow! – Why, tomorrow I may be Myself with yesterday’s sev’n thousand years.

Better be jocund with the fruitful Grape Than sadden after none, or bitter, Fruit.

Oh Thou, who Man of baser Earth didst make, And ev’n with Paradise devise the snake; For all the Sin wherewith the Face of Man Is blackened – Man’s forgiveness give and take!

Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.

I hide my distress, just like the blessed birds hide themselves when they are preparing to die. Wine! Wine, roses, music and your indifference to my sadness, my loved-one!

Why, all the Saints and Sages who discuss’d Of the Two Worlds so wisely – they are thrust Like foolish Prophets forth; their Words to Scorn Are scattered, and their mouths are stopped with Dust.

A drink is shorter than a tale.