Be always drunken. Nothing else matters: that is the only question. If you would not feel the horrible burden of time weighing on your shoulders and crushing you to the earth, be drunken continually.
Drunken with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you will. But be drunken.
And if sometimes, on the stars of a place, or on the green side of a ditch, or in the dreaery solitude of your own room, you should awaken, and the drunkenness be half or wholly slipped away from you, ask of wind, or of the wave, or of the star, or of the bird, or of the clock, of whatever flies, or sighs, or rocks, or signs, or speaks ask what hour it is, and the wind, wave, star, bird, clock, will answer you: “it’s the hour to be drunken! Be drunken if you would not be martyred slaves of time, be drunken continually! With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you will.”
Charles P. Baudelaire
biblo – ancient tears (20 plays)
for a moment, i almost believed him. his face was as smooth as an angel’s wing.
before you see the light you must die
“Fakat bir taşın karşısına geçip de insafına sığınmaya çalışmak amma da sefilce.”