The great art of life is sensation, to feel that we exist, even in pain.
The poor dog, in life the firmest friend. The first to welcome, foremost to defend.
Many are poets, but without the name;For what is Poesy but to createFrom overfeeling Good or Ill; and aimAt an external life beyond our fate,And be the new Prometheus of new men,Bestowing fire from Heaven, and then, too late,Finding the pleasure given repaid with pain
Fill high the cup with Samian wine!
The devil was the first democrat
Marriage, from love, like vinegar from wine-- A sad, sour sober beverage--by time Is sharpened from its high celestial flavor Down to a very homely household savor.