The Journey Is Its Own

Jove Lifts The Golden Balances That Show The Fates Of Mortal Men, And Things Below.

Wine Give Strenght To Weary Men. And And Wine Can Of Their Wits The Wise Beguile. Make The Sage Frolic, And The Serious Smile. And Let Those Who Drink Not, But Austerely Dine, Dry Up In Law; The Muses Smell Of Wine. And No Poem Was Ever Written By A Drinker Of Water. And Bacchus Opens The Gate Of The Heart. And Might To Inspire New Hopes And Powerful To Drown The Bitterness Of Cares.

I Hate To Tell Again A Tale Once Fully Told.

The Other Day, I Was So Desperate For A Beer, I Snuck Into The Football Stadium And Ate The Dirt Under The Bleachers.

[but] Age, The Common Enemy Of Mankind, Has Laid His Hand Upon You; Would That It Had Fallen Upon Some Other, And That You Were Still Young.