Everything That Gives Pleasure Has

The Old Paris Is No More (the Form Of A City Changes Faster, Alas! Than A Mortal's Heart).

It Is Necessary To Work, If Not From Inclination, At Least From Despair. Everything Considered, Work Is Less Boring Than Amusing Oneself.

All The Visible Universe Is Nothing But A Shop Of Images And Signs.

In Order Not To Feel Time's Horrid Fardel Bruise Your Shoulders, Grinding You Into The Earth, Get Drunk And Stay That Way. On What? On Wine, Poetry, Virtue, Whatever. But Get Drunk!

Drink Wine, Drink Poetry, Drink Virtue.