Fierce eagles breed not the tender dove.
No poem was ever written by a drinker of water.
Whither, O god of wine, art thou hurrying me, whilst under thy all-powerful influence?
He will be beloved when he is no more.
It is no great art to say something briefly when, like Tacitus, one has something to say; when one has nothing to say, however, and none the less writes a whole book and makes truth into a liar - that I call an achievement.
No poems can please long or live that are written by water drinkers.