Even When I'm Railed At, I Get

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!

I Love You, And Because I Love You, I Would Sooner Have You Hate Me For Telling You The Truth Than Adore Me For Telling You Lies.

Desire Is Poison At Lunch And Wormwood At Dinner; Your Bed Is A Stone, Friendship Is Hateful And Your Fancy Is Always Fixed On One Thing.

The Art Of War Is Like The Art Of The Courtesan; Indeed They Might Be Called Sisters, Since Both Are Slaves Of Desperation.

Even When I'm Railed At, I Get My Quota Of Renown.