Come boy, and pour for me a cup Of old Falernian. Fill it up With wine, strong, sparkling, bright, and clear; Our host decrees no water here. Let dullards drink the Nymph's pale brew, The sluggish thin their blood with dew. For such pale stuff we have no use; For us the purple grape's rich juice. Begone, ye chilling water sprite; Here burning Bacchus rules tonight! Catullus, Selections From Catullus No poems can live long or please that are written by water-drinkers.

Each day that fate adds to your life, put down as so much gain.

We are just statistics, born to consume resources.

Fire, if neglected, will soon gain strength.

While I am sane I shall compare nothing to the joy of a friend.

To grow a philosopher's beard.

Youth is unduly busy with pampering the outer person.