The leaves of life are falling one by one.
Drink wine. This is life eternal. This is all that youth will give you. It is the season for wine, roses and drunken friends. Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.
Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.
The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ, Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line, Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.
Your hand can seize today, but not tomorrow; and thoughts of your tomorrow are nothing but desire. Don’t waste this breath, if your heart isn’t crazy, since “the rest of your life” won’t last forever.
Dead yesterdays and unborn tomorrows, why fret about it, if today be sweet.
So I be written in the Book of Love. I do not care about that Book Above. Erase my name, or write it as you will. So I be written in the Book of Love.
Today is the time of my youth I drink wine because it is my solace; Do not blame me, although it is bitter it is pleasant, It is bitter because it is my life.
When I want to understand what is happening today or try to decide what will happen tomorrow, I look back.
We are in truth but pieces on this chess board of life, which in the end we leave, only to drop one by one into the grave of nothingness.
Fools, your reward is neither here nor there.
The moving finger writes; and having writ, moves on.