It is the hour to be drunken! to escape being the martyred slaves of time be ceaselessly drunk. On wine on poetry or on virtue as you wish.

Rhyme that enslaved queen that supreme charm of our poetry that creator of our meter.

It is time to get drunk! So as not to be the martyred slaves of Time get drunk get drunk without stopping! On wine on poetry or on virtue as you wish.

TRUE permanent peace can never be restored until slavery the occasion of the war has ceased.

It is the nature of the wise to resist pleasures but the foolish to be a slave to them.

He who can be and therefore is another's and he who participates in reason enough to apprehend but not to have is a slave by nature.

Rock n' Roll came from the slaves singing gospel in the fields. Their lives were hell and they used music to lift out of it to take them away. That's what rock n' roll should do - take you to a better place.

But to the slave mother New Year's day comes laden with peculiar sorrows. She sits on her cold cabin floor watching the children who may all be torn from her the next morning and often does she wish that she and they might die before the day dawns.

The trouble with our people is as soon as they got out of slavery they didn't want to give the white man nothing else. But the fact is you got to give em something. Either your money your land your woman or your ass.

I think the person who takes a job in order to live - that is to say for the money - has turned himself into a slave.