The Belly Has No Ears Nor Is

But Where Are The Snows Of Last Year? That Was The Greatest Concern Of Villon, The Parisian Poet.

Can There Be Any Greater Dotage In The World Than For One To Guide And Direct His Courses By The Sound Of A Bell, And Not By His Own Judgment.

I Drink Eternally. For Me It Is An Eternity Of Drinking, And A Drinking Up Of Eternity.

Debts And Lies Are Generally Mixed Together.

A Certain Jollity Of Mind, Pickled In The Scorn Of Fortune.