To the fool, he who speaks wisdom will sound foolish.

Time will discover everything to posterity; it is a babbler, and speaks even when no question is put.

Bodies devoid of mind are as statues in the market place.

The unrighteous are never really fortunate.

Poverty possesses this disease; through want it teaches a man evil.

Talk sense to a fool and he calls you foolish.

He is life's liberating force. He is release of limbs and communion through dance. He is laughter, and music in flutes. He is repose from all cares -- he is sleep! When his blood bursts from the grape and flows across tables laid in his honor to fuse with our blood, he gently, gradually, wraps us in shadows of ivy-cool sleep.