And Life 's Enchanted Cup But Sparkles

The Mellow Autumn Came, And With It Came The Promised Party, To Enjoy Its Sweets. The Corn Is Cut, The Manor Full Of Game; The Pointer Ranges, And The Sportsman Beats In Russet Jacket;--lynx-like Is His Aim; Full Grows His Bag, And Wonderful His Feats. An, Nutbrown Partridges! An, Brilliant Pheasants! And Ah, Ye Poachers!--'tis No Sport For Peasants.

As Soon Seek Roses In December, Ice In June, Hope Constancy In Wind, Or Corn In Chaff Believe A Woman Or An Epitaph Or Any Other Thing That’s False Before You Trust In Critics.

I Am The Very Slave Of Circumstance And Impulse -- Borne Away With Every Breath!

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.

I Do Not Believe In Any Religion, I Will Have Nothing To Do With Immortality. We Are Miserable Enough In This Life Without Speculating Upon Another.