The Scent Of Wine, Oh How Much

A Little Rain Beats Down A Big Wind. Long Drinking Bouts Break Open The Tun(der).

A Certain Jollity Of Mind, Pickled In The Scorn Of Fortune.

I Have Already Related To You Great And Admirable Things; But, If You Might Be Induced To Adventure Upon The Hazard Of Believing Some Other Divinity Of This Sacred Pantagruelion, I Very Willingly Would Tell It You. Believe It, If You Will, Or Otherwise, Believe It Not, I Care Not Which Of Them You Do, They Are Both Alike To Me. It Shall Be Sufficient For My Purpose To Have Told You The Truth, And The Truth I Will Tell You.

It Is Quite A Common And Vulgar Thing Among Humans To Understand, Foresee, Know And Predict The Troubles Of Others. But Oh What A Rare Thing It Is To Predict, Know, Foresee And Understand One's Own Troubles.

Remove Idleness From The World And Soon The Arts Of Cupid Would Perish.