Drink Wine, Drink Poetry, Drink

When A Singer Puts His Hand On His Heart, It Means Usually, I Will Always Love You!

I Love The Clouds... The Clouds That Pass By... Over There... Over There... Those Lovely Clouds!

To Be A Great Man And A Saint To Oneself, That's The Only Important Thing.

This Life Is A Hospital Where Every Patient Is Possessed With The Desire To Change Beds; One Man Would Like To Suffer In Front Of The Stove, And Another Believes That He Would Recover His Health Beside The Window.

The Poet Is A Kinsman In The Clouds Who Scoffs At Archers, Loves A Stormy Day; But On The Ground, Among The Hooting Crowds, He Cannot Walk, His Wings Are In The Way.