Most Glorious Night! Thou Wert Not Sent

Friendship May, And Often Does, Grow Into Love, But Love Never Subsides Into Friendship.

Let Us Have Wine And Woman, Mirth And Laughter, Sermons And Soda Water The Day After. Man, Being Reasonable, Must Get Drunk; The Best Of Life Is But Intoxication: Glory, The Grape, Love, Gold, In These Are Sunk The Hopes Of All Men, And Of Every Nation; Without Their Sap, How Branchless Were The Trunk Of Life's Strange Tree, So Fruitful On Occasion: But To Return--get Very Drunk; And When You Wake With Head-ache, You Shall See What Then.

The Simple Wordsworth . . . / Who, Both By Precept And Example, Shows / That Prose Is Verse, And Verse Is Merely Prose.

There Is Pleasure In The Pathless Woods.

Lovers May Be And Indeed Generally Are Enemies, But They Never Can Be Friends, Because There Must Always Be A Spice Of Jealousy And A Something Of Self In All Their Speculations.