Age Has A Good Mind And Sorry

With A Goose-quill And A Few Sheets Of Paper, I Mock Myself Of The Universe. They Say I Am The Son Of A Courtesan; It May Be So, But I Have The Heart Of A King. I Live Free, I Enjoy Myself, I Can Call Myself Happy.

Perfumed And Gallant Words Make Our Ears Belch.

He Who Has Not Been At A Tavern Knows Not What A Paradise It Is. O Holy Tavern! O Miraculous Tavern! - Holy, Because No Carking Cares Are There, Nor Weariness, Nor Pain; And Miraculous, Because Of The Spits, Which Themselves Turn Round And Round!

Nothing, It Appears To Me, Is Of Greater Value In A Man Than The Power Of Judgment; And The Man Who Has It May Be Compared To A Chest Filled With Books, For He Is The Son Of Nature And The Father Of Art.

Poetry Is A Whim Of Nature In Her Lighter Moods; It Requires Nothing But Its Own Madness And, Lacking That, It Becomes A Soundless Cymbal, A Belfry Without A Bell.