'Twas but my tongue, 'twas not my soul that swore.
Alas, how right the ancient saying is: We, who are old, are nothing else but noise And shape. Like mimicries of dreams we go, And have no wits, although we think us wise.
There is safety in numbers.
The unrighteous are never really fortunate.
Wine enlivens the human soul.
Of all things upon earth that bleed and grow, a herb most bruised is woman.