Through the unknown, we'll find the new.

Being a useful man has always seemed to me to be something truly hideous.

And yet to wine, to opium even, / I prefer the elixir of your lips on which love flaunts itself.

One must work, if not from inclination, at least out of despair. Since it proves, on close examination, that work is less boring than amusing oneself.

This fencing, this clashing of steel, are the uproar Of youth when it becomes a prey to puling love.

Let us beware of common folk, common sense, sentiment, inspiration, and the obvious.

My desire swollen with hope Will float upon your salty tears

Watteau, carnival where the loves of many famous hearts / Flutter capriciously like butterflies with gaudy wings; / Cool, airy settings where the candelabras' light / Touches with madness the couples whirling in the dance

Exasperated, a drunk that sees things doubled, / I stumbled home, slammed the door, terrified, / sick, depressed, mind feverish and troubled, / wounded by mystery, the absurd, outside! / In vain my reason tried to take command, / its efforts useless in the tempest’s roar, / my soul, a mastless barge, danced, and danced, / over some monstrous sea without a shore!

One should always be drunk. That's all that matters…But with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you chose. But get drunk.