Force is as pitiless to the man who possesses it or thinks he does as it is to its victims the second it crushes the first it intoxicates. The truth is nobody really possesses it.

There are days when solitude is a heady wine that intoxicates you with freedom others when it is a bitter tonic and still others when it is a poison that makes you beat your head against the wall.

Beauty is worse than wine it intoxicates both the holder and beholder.