I can’t reveal the mystery to either saint or sinner; I can’t state at length what I’ve said curtly; I achieve an altered state that I can’t explain; I have a secret that I cannot share.

Myself when young did eagerly frequent doctor and saint, and heard great argument about it and about: but evermore came out by the same door as in I went.

Drink! for you know not when you came, nor why; Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.

A drink is shorter than a tale

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

A hair divides what is false and true.

A loaf of bread, a jug of wine, and thou.