Let us have wine and women, mirth and laughter, Sermons and soda-water the day after. - Lord Byron

Let no man grumble when his friends fall off,
As they will do like leaves at the first breeze:
When your affairs come round, one way or t’other,
Go to the coffee-house, and take another.

From my youth upwards My Spirit walked not with the souls of men, Nor looked upon the earth with human eyes; The thirst of their ambition was not mine, The aim of their existence was not mine; My joy was in the wilderness — to breathe the difficult air of the iced mountain's top, Where the birds dare not build — nor insect's wing. These were my pastimes, and to be alone; For if the beings, of whom I was one — Hating to be so — crossed me in my path, I felt myself degraded back to them, And was all clay again. And then I dived, In my lone wanderings, to the caves of Death, Searching its cause in its effect; and drew from withered bones, and skulls, and heaped up dust conclusions most forbidden.

(The rhyme obliges me to this; sometimes
Monarchs are less imperative than rhymes)