That day when the juice of the vine does not ferment
in my head, the universe could offer me an antidote which
would be a poison to me. Yea, sorrow over the things
of this world is a poison, and its antidote is wine. I will
take the antidote then that I may have no fear of the
poison.
How long shall we blush at the injustice of others?
How long shall we burn in the fire of this insipid world?
Arise, banish from thee the sorrow of the world, if thou
art a man; to-day is a feast; come, drink rose-colored
wine.
I am in continual war with my passions, but what can
I do? The memory of my deeds causes me a thousand
regrets, but what can I do? I admit that in Thy clemency
Thou mayest pardon my faults, but the shame of
knowing that Thou knowest what I have done, that shame
will remain, and what can I do?
O my soul! we two form together the parallel of a compass.
Although we have two points, we make but one
body. Actually, we turn upon the same point and describe
a circle, but the day will come finally, when these two
points shall be united.
Since this world is not a place of permanent sojourn for
us, it would be an enormous error to deprive ourselves
of wine and abstain from the favors of our well-beloved.
Oh, peaceable man! how long these discussions upon the
creation or upon the eternity of the world? When I no
longer am, what will it matter to me whether it be ancient
or modern.