Enjoy yourself, drink, call the life you live today your own; but only that, the rest belongs to chance.
When two souls compose a single song, The muse fans Livid wrath before long.
To have found you is a dear happiness; and to be Apollo's son is beyond all my hopes; but there is something I want to say to you alone. Come; this is a private matter between us two - anything you tell me shall be as secret as the grave.
The language of truth is simple.
The man that isn't jolly after drinking is just a drivelling idiot, to my thinking.
Who knoweth if to die be but to live, and that called life by mortals be but death?