The scentless laurel a broad leaf displays,
Few and by fewer gather’d are the bays;
Yet these Apollo wore upon his brow.
The boughs are bare, the stem is twisted now.
“We are weighed down, every moment, by the conception and the sensation of Time. And there are but two means of escaping and forgetting this nightmare: pleasure and work. Pleasure consumes us. Work strengthens us. Let us choose.”