Although wine when it is read somewhat lacks the savour of wine when it is drunk, wine remains a very pleasant thing both to read about and to chat about.

O Winter! bar thine adamantine doors: The north is thine; there hast thou build thy dark, Deep-founded habitation. Shake not thy roofs, Nor bend thy pillars with thine iron car.

Gratitude is heaven itself.

Life delights in life.

Embraces are comminglings from the head even to the feet, And not a pompous high priest entering by a secret place.

The eye altering, alters all.

He who desires, but acts not, breeds pestilence.