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.

A wretched child Is he who does not return his parents' care.

Who cannot open an honest mind No friend will he be of mine.

We must believe in the gods no longer if injustice is to prevail over justice.

I love the old way best, the simple way of poison, where we too are strong as men.

The man is happiest who lives from day to day and asks no more, garnering the simple goodness of life.

The fountains of sacred rivers flow upwards (i.e., everything is turned topsy turvy).