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Thrust into life without my own consent,
Thrust back to death, with who knows what intent? Arise, bright saki, fill the cup with wine
And drown the burden of my discontent.
A saki or sāqī (ساقی) means "wine-server" or "bartender."
Alternate translations:
My coming was not of mine own design,
And one day I must go, and no choice of mine; Come, light-handed cupbearer, gird thee to serve,
We must wash down the care of this world with wine.
[tr. Cowell (1858), # 8]
What, without asking, hither hurried whence
And, without asking, wither hurried hence! Another and another Cup to drown
The Memory of this Impertinence!
[tr. FitzGerald, 1st ed. (1859), # 30]
What, without asking, hither hurried whence
And, without asking, wither hurried hence! Ah, contrite Heav'n endowed us with the Vine
To drug the memory of that insolence.
[tr. FitzGerald, 2nd ed. (1868), # 33]
What, without asking, hither hurried Whence?
And, without asking, Whither hurried hence! Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine
Must drown the memory of that insolence!
[tr. FitzGerald, 3rd ed. (1872), # 30; 4th ed. (1879); 5th ed. (1889)]
O Cup-Bearer, since Time lurks hard by ready to shatter you and me, this world can never be an abiding dwelling for you and me. But come what may, assure yourself that God is in our hands while this cup of wine stands between you and me.
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 35]
I came not hither of my own free will,
And go against my wish, a puppet still; Cupbearer! gird thy loins and fetch some wine;
To purge the world's despite, my goblet fill.
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 110; (1882) # 641]
Since hither, willy nilly, I came the other day
And hence must soon be going, without my yea or nay, Up, cupbearer! thy middle come gird without delay;
The world and all its troubles with wine I 'll wash away.
[tr. Payne (1898), # 94]
Seeing that my coming was not for me the Day of Creation,
and that my undesired departure hence is a purpose fixed for me, get up and gird well thy loins, O nimble Cup bearer,
for I will wash down the misery of the world in wine.
[tr. Heron-Allen (1898), # 21]
As my first coming was no wish of mine So my departure I can not devise. Gird thyself, Saki! Fair bright Saki rise,
Lest time should fail to drink this skin of wine.
[tr. Cadell (1899), # 37]
Since coming at the first was naught of mine,
And I unwilling go by fixed design, Cupbearer, rise! and quickly gird thy loins!
For worldly sorrows I'll wash down in wine!
[tr. Thompson (1906), # 157]
I was not asked to choose my natal morn,
I die as helplessly as I was born. Bring wine, and I will strive to wash away
The recollection of Creation's scorn.
[tr. Talbot (1908), # 21]
Since my coming was not of my own choosing from
the first day, and my going has been irrevocably fixed without my will, arise and gird thy loins, o nimble Sáqí, for I will
wash down the grief of the world with wine.
[tr. Christensen (1927), # 32]
Since here I came unwilling and perforce,
To go unplanning is my proper course; Arise O Guide! and girdle up thy waist,
And with Thy Word absolve me from remorse.
[tr. Tirtha (1941), # 8.72]
My presence here has been no choice of mine;
Fate hounds me most unwillingly away. Rise, wrap a cloth about your loins, my Saki,
And swill away the misery of this world.
[tr. Graves & Ali-Shah (1967), # 32]
Since at first my coming was not at my will,
And the going is involuntarily imposed, Arise, fasten your belt brisk wine-boy,
I'll drown the world's sorrow in wine.
[tr. Avery/Heath-Stubbs (1979), # 94]
You sleep, gaping,
On your bags of gold, adore them like hallowed
Relics not meant to be touched, stare as at gorgeous
Canvases. Money is meant to be spent, it buys pleasure:
Did you know that? Bread, vegetables, wine, you can
Buy almost everything it’s hard to live without.
[Congestis undique saccis
indormis inhians et tamquam parcere sacris
cogeris aut pictis tamquam gaudere tabellis.
Nescis, quo valeat nummus, quem praebeat usum?
Panis ematur, holus, vini sextarius, adde
quis humana sibi doleat natura negatis.]
Horace (65-8 BC) Roman poet, satirist, soldier, politician [Quintus Horatius Flaccus] Satires [Saturae, Sermones], Book 1, # 1, “Qui fit, Mæcenas,” l. 70ff (1.1.70-75) (35 BC) [tr. Raffel (1983)]
(Source)
Thy house, the hell, thy good, the flood, which, thoughe it doe not starte, Nor stirre from thee, yet hath it so in houlde thy servyle hearte,
That though in foysonne full thou swimmes, and rattles in thy bagges, Yet tost thou arte with dreadefulle dreames, thy mynde it waves and wagges,
And wisheth after greater things, and that, thats woorste of all, Thou sparst it as an hollye thynge, and doste thy selfe in thralle
Unto thy lowte, and cockescome lyke thou doste but fille thine eye With that, which shoulde thy porte preserve, and hoyste thyne honor hye.
Thou scannes it, and thou toots upponte, as thoughe it were a warke By practysde painters hande portrayde with shaddowes suttle darke.
Is this the perfytte ende of coyne? be these the veray vayles That money hath, to serve thy syghte? fye, fye thy wysedome fayles.
Tharte misse insenste, thou canst not use't, thou wotes not what to do Withall, by cates, bye breade, bye drincke, in fyne disburse it so,
That nature neede not move her selfe, nor with a betments scant Distrainte, and prickd passe forth her daye in pyne and pinchinge want.
[tr. Drant (1567)]
Thee,
Who on thy full cramb'd Bags together laid, Do'st lay thy sleepless and affrighted head;
And do'st no more the moderate use on't dare To make, then if it consicrated were:
Thou mak'st no other use of all thy gold, Then men do of their pictures, to behold.
Do'st thou not know the use and power of coyn? It buys bread, meat, and cloaths, (and what's more wine;)
With all those necessary things beside, Without which Nature cannot be suppli'd.
[tr. A. B.; ed. Brome (1666)]
Thou watchest o'er thy heaps, yet 'midst thy store Thou'rt almost starv'd for Want, and still art poor:
You fear to touch as if You rob'd a Saint, And use no more than if 'twere Gold in paint:
You only know how Wealth may be abus'd, Not what 'tis good for, how it can be us'd;
'Twill buy Thee Bread, 'twill buy Thee Herbs, and What ever Nature's Luxury can grant.
[tr. Creech (1684)]
Of thee the tale is told, With open mouth when dozing o'er your gold.
On every side the numerous bags are pil'd, Whose hallow'd stores must never be defil'd
To human use ; while you transported gaze, As if, like pictures, they were form'd to please.
Would you the real use of riches know? Bread, herbs, and wine are all they can bestow:
Or add, what nature's deepest wants supplies; This, and no more, thy mass of money buys.
[tr. Francis (1747)]
O'er countless heaps in nicest order stored You pore agape, and gaze upon the hoard,
As relicks to be laid with reverence by, Or pictures only meant to please the eye.
With all your cash, you seem not yet to know Its proper use, or what it can bestow!
"'Twill buy me herbs, a loaf, a pint of wine, -- All, which denied her, nature would repine."
[tr. Howes (1845)]
You sleep upon your bags, heaped up on every side, gaping over them, and are obliged to abstain from them, as if they were consecrated things, or to amuse yourself with them as you would with pictures. Are you ignorant of what value money has, what use it can afford? Bread, herbs, a bottle of wine may be purchased; to which [necessaries], add [such others], as, being withheld, human nature would be uneasy with itself.
[tr. Smart/Buckley (1853)]
You sleepless gloat o'er bags of money gained from every source, and yet you're forced to touch them not as though tabooed, or else you feel but such delight in them as painting gives the sense. Pray don't you know the good of money to you, or the use it is? You may buy bread and herbs, your pint of wine, and more, all else, which if our nature lacked, it would feel pain.
[tr. Millington (1870)]
Of you the tale is told: You sleep, mouth open, on your hoarded gold;
Gold that you treat as sacred, dare not use, In fact, that charms you as a picture does.
Come, will you hear what wealth can fairly do? 'Twill buy you bread, and vegetables too,
And wine, a good pint measure: add to this Such needful things as flesh and blood would miss.
[tr. Conington (1874)]
You sleep with open mouth on money-bags piled up from all sides, and must perforce keep hands off as if they were hallowed, or take delight in them as if painted pictures. Don't you know what money is for, what end it serves? You may buy bread, greens, a measure of wine, and such other things as would mean pain to our human nature, if withheld.
[tr. Fairclough (Loeb) (1926)]
You sleep on the sacks
Of money you've scraped up and raked in from everywhere
And, gazing with greed, are still forced to keep your hands off,
As if they were sacred or simply pictures to look at.
Don't you know what money can do, or just why we want it?
It's to buy bread and greens and a pint of wine
And the things that we, being human, can't do without.
[tr. Palmer Bovie (1959)]
You have money bags amassed from everywhere,
just to sleep and gasp upon. To you they're sacred,
or they're works of art, to be enjoyed only with the eyes.
Don't you know the value of money, what it's used for?
It buys bread, vegetables, a pint of wine and whatever else
a human being needs to survive and not to suffer.
[tr. Fuchs (1977)]
You sleep with open mouth
on sacks accumulated from everywhere
and are constrained to worship them as sacred things,
or rejoice in them as if they were painted tablets.
Do you not know what money serves for?
How it's to be used? to buy bread, vegetables,
a sixth of wine, other things deprived of which
human nature suffers.
[tr. Alexander (1999)]
You sleep open-mouthed on a mound of money
bags but won't touch them; you just stare at them
as if they were a collection of paintings.
What's money for? What can it do? Why not
buy bread, vegetables, what you think's wine enough?
Don't you want what it harms us not to have?
[tr. Matthews (2002)]
You scrape your money-bags together and fall asleep
on top of them with your mouth agape. They must remain unused
like sacred objects, giving no more pleasure than if painted on canvas.
Do you not realize what money is for, what enjoyment it gives?
You can buy bread and vegetables, half a litre of wine,
and the other things which human life can't do without.
[tr. Rudd (2005 ed.)]
... covetously sleeping on money-bags
Piled around, forced to protect them like sacred objects,
And take pleasure in them as if they were only paintings.
Don’t you know the value of money, what end it serves?
Buy bread with it, cabbages, a pint of wine: all the rest,
Things where denying them us harms our essential nature.
[tr. Kline (2015)]
It is very strange, this domination of our intellect by our digestive organs. We cannot work, we cannot think, unless our stomach wills so. It dictates to us our emotions, our passions. After eggs and bacon, it says, “Work!” After beefsteak and porter, it says, “Sleep!” After a cup of tea (two spoonsful for each cup, and don’t let it stand more than three minutes), it says to the brain, “Now, rise, and show your strength. Be eloquent, and deep, and tender; see, with a clear eye, into Nature and into life; spread your white wings of quivering thought, and soar, a god-like spirit, over the whirling world beneath you, up through long lanes of flaming stars to the gates of eternity!” After hot muffins, it says, “Be dull and soulless, like a beast of the field — a brainless animal, with listless eye, unlit by any ray of fancy, or of hope, or fear, or love, or life.” And after brandy, taken in sufficient quantity, it says, “Now, come, fool, grin and tumble, that your fellow-men may laugh — drivel in folly, and splutter in senseless sounds, and show what a helpless ninny is poor man whose wit and will are drowned, like kittens, side by side, in half an inch of alcohol.”
Jerome K. Jerome (1859-1927) English writer, humorist [Jerome Klapka Jerome] Three Men in a Boat (To Say Nothing of the Dog), ch. 10 (1889)
(Source)
Dore – Purgatorio, Canto 33 – Drinking from the Eunoe (1868)
Reader, had I the space to write at will, I should, if only briefly, sing a praise of that sweet draught. Would I were drinking still!
But I have filled all the pages planned for this, my second, canticle, and Art pulls at its iron bit with iron hand.
[S’io avessi, lettor, più lungo spazio da scrivere, i’ pur cantere’ in parte lo dolce ber che mai non m’avria sazio;
ma perché piene son tutte le carte ordite a questa cantica seconda, non mi lascia più ir lo fren de l’arte.]
Dante Alighieri (1265-1321) Italian poet The Divine Comedy [Divina Commedia], Book 2 “Purgatorio,” Canto 33, l. 136ff (3.136-141) (1314) [tr. Ciardi (1961)]
(Source)
On drinking from the Eunoë, Dante gets meta, breaking the Fourth Wall and, having self-imposed limits on the number of cantos per book and lines in each canto, he uses "Art" as an excuse to draw toward a conclusion.
On the other hand, Sayers notes that Dante "is almost unique among medieval writers" in restraining his writing: "one of the reasons for his enduring readableness."
If breath and vigour, by indulgent Heav'n,
To sing this bev'rage of the Gods were giv'n, What holy rapture would exalt my Song!
To tell the unexhausted sweets that flow
From that blest Fountain o'er the Vale below. And warm, with new desire, the votive Throng!
But now the Muse has run her fatal round,
And mark'd her Circle to the Second Bound.
[tr. Boyd (1802), st. 26-27]
Were further space allow’d,
Then, Reader, might I sing, though but in part,
That beverage, with whose sweetness I had ne’er
Been sated. But, since all the leaves are full,
Appointed for this second strain, mine art
With warning bridle checks me.
[tr. Cary (1814)]
Reader, had I but longer space to write, I might describe to thee, in part, the taste Of draught that's ever sweet, nor waste
The time; but leaves are all already full Appointed for the second canticle, Nor curb nor rein permit me use the will.
[tr. Bannerman (1850)]
If, Reader, I possessed a longer space For writing it, I yet would sing in part Of the sweet draught that ne'er would satiate me;
But inasmuch as full are all the leaves Made ready for this second canticle, The curb of art no farther lets me go.
[tr. Longfellow (1867)]
If I had, reader, longer space to write, I should sing, at all events in part, the sweet draught which never would have sated me; but, for that all the sheets put in frame for this second Canticle are full, the bridle of my art lets me go no further.
[tr. Butler (1885)]
Reader, if longer space to me were rated For writing, I would strive to sing in part That draught so sweet, which never could have sated.
But since is now completely filled the chart Allotted for this second book, there leaves No power to wander more the curb of Art.
[tr. Minchin (1885)]
If I had, Reader, longer space for writing I would yet partly sing the sweet draught which never would have sated me. But, because all the leaves destined for this second canticle are full, the curb of my art lets me go no further.
[tr. Norton (1892)]
If, reader, I had greater space for writing, I would sing, at least in part, of the sweet draught which never would have sated me; but forasmuch as all the pages ordained for this second canticle are filled, the curb of art no further lets me go.
[tr. Okey (1901)]
If, reader, I had more space to write I should sing but in part the sweet draught which never would have sated me; but since all the sheets prepared for this second cantica are full the curb of art does not let me go farther.
[tr. Sinclair (1939)]
If, Reader, for the writing were more space, That sweet fount, whence I ne'er could drink my fill, Would I yet sing, though in imperfect praise.
But seeing that for this second canticle The paper planned is full to the last page, The bridle of art must needs constrain my will.
[tr. Binyon (1943)]
If for my writing, Reader, I'd more space, I'd sing -- at least in part -- those sweets my heart Might aye have drunk nor e'er known weariness;
But since I've filled the pages set apart For this my second cantique, I'll pursue No further, bridled by the curb of art.
[tr. Sayers (1955)]
If, reader, I had greater space for writing I would yet partly sing the sweet draught which never would have sated me.
but since all the pages ordained for this second canticle are filled, the curb of art lets me go no further.
[tr. Singleton (1973)]
Reader, if I had space to write more words, I'd sing, at least in part, of that sweet draught which never could have satisfied my thirst;
But now I have completed every page planned for my poem's second canticle -- I am checked by the bridle of my art!
[tr. Musa (1981)]
If, reader, I had room to write more, My poem could still not tell you everything About the sweet drink of which I could never have had enough.
But since all the pages designed for this Second part of the poem have been filled, The rules of art stop me at this point.
[tr. Sisson (1981)]
If, reader, I had ampler space in which to write, I'd sing -- though incompletely -- that sweet draught for which my thirst was limitless;
but since all of the pages pre-disposed for this, the second canticle, are full, the curb of art will not let me continue.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1982)]
Reader, if I had more space to write, I would speak, partially at least, about that sweet drink, which would never have sated me: but because all the pages determined for the second Canticle are full, the curb of art lets me go no further.
[tr. Kline (2002)]
If, reader, I had more space to write, I would continue to sing in part the sweet drink that could never satiate me, but because all the pages are filled that have been laid out for this second canticle, the bridle of art permits me to go no further.
[tr. Durling (2003)]
If, reader, I'd more space in which to write, then I should sing in part about that drink, so sweet I’d never have my fill of it.
However, since these pages now are full, prepared by rights to take the second song, the reins of art won't let me pass beyond.
[tr. Kirkpatrick (2007)]
If, reader, I had more ample space to write, I should sing at least in part the sweetness of the drink that never would have sated me,
but, since all the sheets readied for this second canticle are full, the curb of art lets me proceed no farther.
[tr. Hollander/Hollander (2007)]
O reader, if I had the space to tell you More, I'd sing something about that sweetest Drink, no quantity of which could ever
End my thirst, but because the pages meant For this canto are already filled, my art prevents me, Affirming limits I am forced to meet.
[tr. Raffel (2010)]
Then they laughed and made good cheer, and either drank to other freely, and they thought never drink that ever they drank to other was so sweet nor so good. But by that their drink was in their bodies, they loved either other so well that never their love departed, for weal neither for woe. And thus it happed the love first betwixt Sir Tristram and La Beale Isoud, the which love never departed the days of their life.
Thomas Malory (c. 1415-1471) English writer Le Morte d’Arthur, Book 8, ch. 24 (1485)
(Source)
Variant: "They both laughed and drank to each other; they had never tasted sweeter liquor in all their lives. And in that moment they fell so deeply in love that their hearts would never be divided. So the destiny of Tristram and Isolde was ordained." [ed. Ackroyd (2010)]
To confirm still more your piety and gratitude to Divine Providence, reflect upon the situation which it has given to the elbow. You see in animals, who are intended to drink the waters that flow upon the earth, that if they have long legs, they have also a long neck, so that they can get at their drink without kneeling down. But man, who was destined to drink wine, is framed in a manner that he may rise the glass to his mouth. If the elbow had been placed nearer the hand, the part in advance would have been too short to bring the glass up to the mouth; and if it had been nearer the shoulder, that part would have been so long that when it attempted to carry the wine to the mouth it would have overshot the mark, and gone beyond the head; thus, either way, we should have been in the case of Tantalus. But from the actual situation of the elbow, we are enabled to drink at our ease, the glass going directly to the mouth. Let us, then, with glass in hand, adore this benevolent wisdom; — let us adore and drink!
Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790) American statesman, scientist, philosopher, aphorist
Letter to the Abbé Morallet, Postscript (1779)
(Source)
When a Man’s exhausted, wine will build his strength.
[Ἀνδρὶ δὲ κεκμηῶτι μένος μέγα οἶνος ἀέξει.]
Homer (fl. 7th-8th C. BC) Greek author The Iliad [Ἰλιάς], Book 6, l. 261 (6.261) (c. 750 BC) [tr. Fagles (1990), l. 310]
Alt. trans.
For to a man dismay’d
With careful spirits, or too much with labour overlaid,
Wine brings much rescue, strength'ning much the body and the mind.
[tr. Chapman (1611), ll. 274-76]
Then with a plenteous draught refresh thy soul,
And draw new spirits from the generous bowl.
[tr. Pope (1715-20)]
For wine is mighty to renew the strength
Of weary man.
[tr. Cowper (1791), ll. 318-19]
For to a wearied man wine greatly increases strength.
[tr. Buckley (1860)]
For great the strength
Which gen'rous wine imparts to men who toil.
[tr. Derby (1864), ll. 306-07]
When a man is awearied wine greatly maketh his strength to wax.
[tr. Leaf/Lang/Myers (1891)]
Wine gives a man fresh strength when he is wearied.
[tr. Butler (1898)]
When a man is spent with toil wine greatly maketh his strength to wax.
[tr. Murray (1924)]
In a tired man, wine will bring back his strength to its bigness.
[tr. Lattimore (1951)]
Wine will restore a man when he is weary as you are.
[tr. Fitzgerald (1974)]
When someone is fatigued, wine greatly increases his power.
[tr. Merrill (2007)]
You ought to get out of those wet clothes and into a dry martini.
Mae West (1892-1980) American film actress Every Day’s a Holiday (movie) [Larmadou Graves] (1937)
West both starred in the film (as the recipient of this line, Peaches O'Day) and wrote the screenplay. Often attributed to Robert Benchley, who used the line in a film a few years later, and claimed he got it from a joke book. Also attributed to Groucho Marx.
The word Martini is a nostalgic passport to another era — when automobiles had curves like Mae West, when women were either ladies or dames, when men wore hats, when a deal was done on a handshake, when boxing and polo were regular pastimes, when we lived for movies instead of MTV, and when jazz was going from hot to cool. It was a time when a relationship was called either a romance or an affair, when love over a pitcher of Martinis was bigger than both of us, sweetheart, and it wouldn’t matter if the Russians dropped the bomb as long as the gin was wet and the vermouth was dry. That as Martini Culture.
Barnaby Conrad III (b. 1952) American author, artist, editor The Martini: An Illustrated History of an American Classic, “The Great Martini Revival” (1995)
(Source)
Conrad reworked the passage in "Martini Madness" in Cigar Afficionado (Spring 1996):
The Martini is a cocktail distilled from the wink of a platinum blonde, the sweat of a polo horse, the blast of an ocean liner's horn, the Chrysler building at sunset, a lost Cole Porter tune, and the aftershave of quipping detectives in natty double-breasted suits. It's a nostalgic passport to another era -- when automobiles had curves like Mae West, when women were either ladies or dames, when men were gentlemen or cads, and when a "relationship" was true romance or a steamy affair. Films were called movies then, the music was going from le jazz hot in Paris to nightclub cool in Vegas, and when a deal was done on a handshake, the wise guy who welched soon had a date with a snub-nosed thirty-eight. Love might have ended in a world war, but a kiss was still a kiss, a smile was still a smile, and until they dropped the atomic bomb there was no need to worry, schweetheart, as long as the vermouth was dry and the gin was wet. That was Martini Culture.
“I hope that you did not give him anything, Mr Sanderson!”
“Of course I did, ma’am.”
“But he would only spend it on drink! You know what the working classes are!”
“Indeed, ma’am, and why should he not spend it on drink? Would you deprive the poor, whose lives are bad and miserable and comfortless enough, of the solace of a little relief from grinding poverty? A sordid, sodden relief perhaps, but would you be so heartless as to deny the poor even that pleasure in which all of us indulge at your generous expense?”
Kerry Greenwood (b. 1954) Australian author and lawyer Cocaine Blues (1989)
(Source)
While I’m having these grim thoughts, I notice that my martini glass is nearly empty. It’s not a terribly endearing drink — it tastes like something that got hosed off a runway, then diluted with antifreeze — but it does what it says on the label.
Charles "Charlie" Stross (b. 1964) British writer The Jennifer Morgue (2006)
LEFITT: Well, that didn’t work either.
BORAAN: It most certainly did not.
LEFITT: So, your next idea?
BORAAN: A drink, of course. Maize-oishka and water. Six parts water.
LEFITT: That seems rather weak.
BORAAN: Well, but one hundred parts oishka, do you see?
LEFITT: Ah. Yes, it is all clear to me now.
— Miersen, Six Parts Water, Day Two, Act I, Scene 5
Steven Brust (b. 1955) American writer, systems programmer Jhegaala, epigram (2008)
Every major industrialized nation has A BEER (you can’t be a Real Country unless you have A BEER and an airline — it helps if you have some kind of a football team, or some nuclear weapons, but at the very least you need A BEER).
Frank Zappa (1940-1993) American singer-songwriter The Real Frank Zappa Book, ch. 12 “America Drinks & Goes Marching” (1989) [with Peter Occhiogrosso]
(Source)
Take a drink because you pity yourself, and then the drink pities you and has a drink, and then two good drinks get together and that calls for drinks all around. No; he’d have one drink, maybe a little bigger than usual, before he went to bed.
H. Beam Piper (1904-1964) American author Little Fuzzy (1962)
The Americans are a good-natured people, kindly, helpful to one another, disposed to take a charitable view even of wrongdoers […] Even a mob lynching a horse thief in the West has consideration for the criminal, and will give him a good drink of whiskey before he is strung up.
James Bryce (1838-1922) British politician, diplomat, jurist, historian The American Commonwealth (1888)
There’s no such thing as bad whiskey. Some whiskeys just happen to be better than others. But a man shouldn’t fool with booze until he’s fifty, and then he’s a damn fool if he doesn’t.
William Faulkner (1897-1962) American novelist
(Attributed)
Quoted in James M. Webb and A. Wigfall Green, William Faulkner of Oxford (1965). See also Wright and Chandler.
I like to have a martini,
Two at the very most.
After three I’m under the table,
After four I’m under my host.
Dorothy Parker (1893-1967) American writer, poet, wit
(Spurious)
Variants:
"I'd love to have a martini, / Two at the very most. / With three I'm under the table, / With four I'm under my host."
"I like to have a Martini / But only two at the most, / After three I'm under the table, / After four I'm under my host."
Frequently attributed to Parker (the main quatrain quoted is in The Collected Dorothy Parker), but originally an anonymous gag in found in the University of Virginia Harlequin (1959): "I wish I could drink like a lady. / 'Two or three,' at the most. / But two, and I'm under the table -- / And three, I'm under the host."
The confusion apparently comes from Bennett Cerf, Try and Stop Me (1944), where he related an anecdote in which Parker commented about a cocktail party, more straightforwardly, "Enjoyed it? One more drink and I'd have been under the host!" See here for more discussion.
And when people ask me why I’m so healthy, I say, “Plenty of red meat and gin!”
Julia Child (1912-2004) American chef and writer
Interview in The World: Journal of the Unitarian Universalist Assoc. (1992)
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On her 80th birthday. "Red meat and gin" was frequently mentioned by Child in interviews when asked either (a) her comfort foods or (b) the secret of her longevity. She does not seem to have used it in her writing.
I believe in the gospel of Good Living. You can not make any god happy by fasting. Let us have good food, and let us have it well cooked — and it is a thousand times better to know how to cook than it is to understand any theology in the world.
Robert Green Ingersoll (1833-1899) American lawyer, agnostic, orator
“What Must We Do to Be Saved?” Sec. 11 (1880)
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PORTER: Drink, sir, is a great provoker of three things.
MACDUFF: What three things does drink especially provoke?
PORTER: Marry, sir, nose-painting, sleep, and urine.
Lechery, sir, it provokes, and unprovokes;
it provokes the desire, but it takes away the performance:
therefore, much drink may be said
to be an equivocator with lechery:
it makes him, and it mars him;
it sets him on, and it takes him off;
it persuades him, and disheartens him;
makes him stand to, and not stand to;
in conclusion, equivocates him in a sleep,
and, giving him the lie, leaves him.
William Shakespeare (1564-1616) English dramatist and poet Macbeth, Act 2, sc. 3, l. 27ff (2.3.27-38) (1606)
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YESTERDAY This Day’s Madness did prepare;
TO-MORROW’S Silence, Triumph, or Despair: Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why:
Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.
FitzGerald used the same text for subsequent editions.
Alternate translations:
Ah, fill the Cup: -- what boots it to repeat
How Time is slipping underneath our Feet: Unborn To-morrow and dead Yesterday,
Why fret about them if To-day be sweet!
[tr. FitzGerald, 1st ed. (1859), # 37]
Yesterday This Day's Madness did prepare;
To-morrow's Silence, Triumph, or Despair: Drink! for you know not whence you came, nor why:
Drink! for you know not why you go, nor where.
[tr. FitzGerald, 2nd ed. (1868), # 80]
Be on your guard, my friend, for you will be sundered from your soul, you will pass behind the curtain of the secrets of heaven. Drink wine, for you know not whence you come. Be merry, for you know not where you go.
[tr. McCarthy (1879), # 180]
O soul, so soon to leave this coil below,
And pass the dread mysterious curtain through, Be of good cheer, and joy you while you may,
You wot not whence you come, nor whither go.
[tr. Whinfield (1882), # 40]
Make haste! soon must you quit this life below,
And pass the veil, and Allah's secrets know; Make haste to take your pleasure while you may,
You wot not whence you come, nor whither go.
[tr. Whinfield (1883), # 48 or 87]
Ah Brother, but a little while, and Thou shalt find
Thy Lasting Home the 'Secret Veil' behind; -- Rejoice Thy Heart and banish Grief, for know, --
Thy source, Thy Goal, has never been defined.
[tr. Garner (1887), 7.8]
Ah, brother, but a little while and thou shalt find
Eternal rest, the secret veil behind; Rejoice thy heart and banish grief, for know --
Thy source, thy goal, has never been divined.
[tr. Garner (1898), # 148]
'Tis a strange world we came to, You and I,
Whence no man knows, and surely none knows why, Why we remain -- a harder question still,
And still another -- whither when we die?
[tr. Le Gallienne (1897)]
Bethink thee that soulless and bare thou shalt go;
The veil of God's mysteries to tear thou shalt go: Drink wine, for thou knowest not whence thou hast come;
Live blithe, for thou knowest not where thou shalt go.
[tr. Payne (1898), # 188]
Know this --- that from thy soul thou shalt be separated,
thou shalt pass behind the curtain of the secrets of God. Be happy -- thou knowest not whence thou hast come:
drink wine - thou knowest not whither thou shalt go.
[tr. Heron-Allen (1898), # 26]
Thou shalt be parted from thy soul, and then,
Enter God's veil of mystery again; Be glad! For whence you came you do not know;
Drink! For you wist as little where you go.
[tr. Cadell (1899), # 26]
Soon shall you bid farewell to mortal tie;
Soon shall you read life's deepest mystery. Drink, for you know not when you go, nor where;
Drink, for you know not whence you came, nor why.
[tr. Roe (1906), # 35]
Since from your soul you separate, then know
Behind God's secret veil you will go, too; Drink wine! for you know not whence you have come;
Be jocund! for you know not where you go!
[tr. Thompson (1906), # 136]
Know this, that soon thou diest, and thy soul
The Book of God's Great Secret must unroll; Be happy! knowing not whence thou hast come,
Nor whither thou shalt go. Drink out the Bowl!
[tr. Talbot (1908), # 26]
Know that thou shalt depart, deprived of thy soul; thou
shalt go behind the veil of the mystery of annihilation. Drink wine: thou knowest not whence thou art come.
Be merry! thou knowest not whither thou shalt go.
[tr. Christensen (1927), # 15]
Ye go from soul asunder this ye know,
And that ye creep, behind His curtain low; Hence sing His Name, ye know not whence ye came,
And live sedate, ye know not where to go.
[tr. Tirtha (1941), 9.99]
What, without asking, hither hurried whence?
And, without asking, whither hurried hence! Another and another cup to drown
The Memory of this impertinence.
[tr. Graves & Ali-Shah (1967)]
Reflect upon your present blessings — of which every man has many — not on your past misfortunes, of which all men have some. Fill your glass again, with a merry face and contented heart. Our life on it, but your Christmas shall be merry, and your new year a happy one!
Charles Dickens (1812-1870) English writer and social critic Sketches by Boz, “Characters,” ch. 2 “A Christmas Dinner” (1833-36)
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