The Destiny Of Nations Depends

The Senses Are The Organs By Which Man Places Himself In Connexion With Exterior Objects.

In The Centre Of A Spacious Table Rose A Pastry As Large As A Church, Flanked On The North By A Quarter Of Cold Veal, On The South By An Enormous Ham, On The East By A Monumental Pile Of Butter, And On The West By An Enormous Dish Of Artichokes, With A Hot Sauce.

The Limits Of Pleasure Are As Yet Neither Known Nor Fixed, And That We Have No Idea What Degree Of Bodily Bliss We Are Capable Of Attaining.

If Any Man Has Drunk A Little Too Deeply From The Cup Of Physical Pleasure; If He Has Spent Too Much Time At His Desk That Should Have Been Spent Asleep; If His Fine Spirits Have Become Temporarily Dulled; If He Finds The Air Too Damp, The Minutes Too Slow, And The Atmosphere Too Heavy To Withstand; If He Is Obsessed By A Fixed Idea Which Bars Him From Any Freedom Of Thought: If He Is Any Of These Poor Creatures, We Say, Let Him Be Given A Good Pint Of Amber-flavored Chocolate... And Marvels Will Be Performed.

A Meal Without Wine Is Like A Day Without Sun