Quotes About Revelry

Lesson for the day, kids: hangovers are real, and they are the opposite of fun.

It takes a while for revelry to turn to reverence, and much repetition of truth to eventual turn young zeal into habitual channels for good.

and hearing the lurch the well-known slap of joy

Normally during the week between Christmas and New Year I'm slumped in a chair in Birmingham, eating, farting and spouting total nonsense.

I have been known to hang out and party back in the day. I had a weekend that lasted a few years.

We - we spend a lot of time, scholarly time, thinking about love and sex, but very little about the - the kind of joy that can take over a crowd of people or a group of people, in festivity, in ecstatic ritual of some kind, in celebration.

I would never say that girls and their bachelorette parties are tame.

We're all going to hell anyway, why not enjoy the ride?

and that by this time he didn't care a hang for anybody or anything, they gathered round the glowing embers of the great wood fire, and thought how jolly it was to be sitting up SO late, and SO independent, and SO full;

han hadde av Theodor sin fineste hermetik å diske op med og dertil kold fugl og marmelader og æg på tre måter og kjæks og multer. Og han hadde øl og rødvin til drikke og til fuglen hadde han en kurv champagne... Å for en fest!

And all he wants is to throw a rager in your sugar mill? Then she frowned. Wow. That sounded raunchy.

When I didn't give them moon pies, they hurled beads at me!—

Life should not only be lived, it should be celebrated.

You who are dead ... tonight you will disport yourselves for my pleasure. Food and wine will pass between your dead lips, though you will not taste it. Your dead stomachs will hold it within you, while your dead feet take the measure of a dance. Your dead mouths will speak words that will have no meaning to you, and you will embrace one another without pleasure. You will sing for me if I wish it. You will lie down again when I will it.... Let the revelry begin.

To a suffering person, a night is an epoch. To a reveler, a night passes like a moment. In a dream, a moment is no different from an epoch. But to the sage, whose consciousness has overcome all limitations, there is no day or night. As one turns away from the notion of "I" and "the world," one finds liberation.

The light teaches you to convert life into a festive promenade.

Life is a cabaret, old chum! Come to the Cabaret.

I jump up from a sound sleep to Milo's voice. POP! POP!POP! Suddenly confetti rains down on the room, fluttering around and getting stuck in my surprised, open mouth.

The air there was heavy with the somnolence of a party prolonged into the early hours; and a dull light came from the lamps, whose charred wicks glowed red inside their globes. The ladies had reached that vaguely melancholy hour when they felt it necessary to tell each other the story of their lives.

All round there was a rising tide of beer, widow Désir's barrels had all been broached, beer had rounded all paunches and was overflowing in all directions, from noses, eyes - and elsewhere. People were so blown out and higgledy-piggledy, that everybody's elbows or knees were sticking into his neighbour and everybody thought it great fun to feel his neighbour's elbows. All mouths were grinning from ear to ear in continuous laughter.

She drank three giant glasses of Kool-Aid and vodka that night.

Thus, while I quaff the genial wine, I live mid transports quite divine.

Bring water, bring wine, boy! Bring flowering garlands to me! Yes, bring them, so that I may try a bout with love.

The more wine gets through your mouth the more silly words come out of it.