There is a fault common to all singers. When they're among friends and are asked to sing they don't want to, and when they're not asked to sing they never stop.

Half is done when the beginning is done.

There are faults we would fain pardon.

Few cross the river of time and are able to reach non-being. Most of them run up and down only on this side of the river. But those who when they know the law follow the path of the law, they shall reach the other shore and go beyond the realm of death.

The cook cares not a bit for toil, toil, if the fowl be plump and fat

Wine brings to light the hidden secrets of the soul.

One night awaits all, and death's path must be trodden once and for all.