In their rules there was only one clause: Do what you will.

One inch of joy surmounts of grief a span, Because to laugh is proper to the man.

I owe much; I have nothing; the rest I leave to the poor.

I drink eternally. For me it is an eternity of drinking, and a drinking up of eternity.

But where are the snows of last year? That was the greatest concern of Villon, the Parisian poet.

Machination is worth more than force.

You have no obligation under the sun other than to discover your real needs, to fulfill them, and to rejoice in doing so.