I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day.
by William Butler Yeats
I dreamed as in my bed I lay,
All night's fathomless wisdom come,
That I had shorn my locks away
And laid them on Love's lettered tomb:
But something bore them out of sight
In a great tumult of the air,
And after nailed upon the night
Berenice's burning hair.