Life Is A Toy Made Of Glass;

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.

I Am, Indeed, A King, Because I Know How To Rule Myself.

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!

Flattery And Deceit Are The Darlings Of Great Men, And So With These Men Spread The Butter On Thick, If You Want To Get Something Out Of Them, Otherwise You'll Come Home To Me With A Full Belly And An Empty Purse.