Oh! My beloved! fill the cup, that clears to-day of past regrets and future fears.

My friend, let's not think of tomorrow, but let's enjoy this fleeting moment of life.

A drink is shorter than a tale

The Revelations of Devout and Learn'd Who rose before us, and as Prophets burn'd, Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep They told their comrades, and to Sleep return'd.

Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and-sans End!

I hide my grief, just like the blessed birds hide themselves when they are preparing to die, my love.

I wonder what the vintners buy one half so precious as the stuff they sell.