I'd like a drink. I desire to forget life. Life is a hideous invention by somebody I don't know. It doesn't last, and it's good for nothing. You break your neck simply living.
O youth! thou often tearest thy wings against the thorns of voluptuousness.
A translation in verse . . . seems to me something absurd, impossible.
Yes, the brutalities of progress are called revolutions
God made only water, but man made wine.
I'd rather be hissed at for a good verse, than applauded for a bad one.