The wine-cup is the little silver well, Where truth, if truth there be, doth dwell.

By Fate full many a heart has been undone, And many a sprightly rose made woe-begone; Plume thee not on thy lusty youth and strength: Full many a bud is blasted ere its bloom.

If I don't enjoy myself now, when shall I?

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

Indeed the Idols I have loved so long, have done my credit in this World much wrong; have drowned my Glory in a shallow Cup, and sold my Reputation for a Song.

We are thinking about bad only those who are worse than we are, and those who are better than us ... I'm just not up to us ... One does not follow it than smell roses. Another of the bitter herbs will produce honey. Give bread to one - will remember forever. Another life donation - do not understand.

The entire world shall be populous with that action which saves one soul from despair.