A Quote by Francois de La Rochefoucauld

Youth is a continual intoxication; it is the fever of reason. — © Francois de La Rochefoucauld
Youth is a continual intoxication; it is the fever of reason.
Youth is a perpetual intoxication; it is a fever of the mind.
There is no art without intoxication. But I mean a mad intoxication! Let reason teeter! Delirium!
Life's opportunities never end. God designed you to be a continual learner, a continual doer, a continual explorer and a continual giver. He never authorized a 'retirement age' from those pursuits!
Youth is an intoxication without wine, someone says. Life is an intoxication. The only sober man is the melancholiac, who, disenchanted, looks at life, sees it as it really is, and cuts his throat. If this be so, I want to be very drunk. The great thing is to live, to clutch at our existence and race away with it in some great and enthralling pursuit. Above all, I must beware of all ultimate questions- they are too maddeningly unanswerable- let me eschew philosophy and burn Omar.
There is no art without intoxication. But I mean a mad intoxication! Let reason teeter! Delirium! The highest degree of delirium! Plunged in burning dementia! Art is the most enrapturing orgy within man's reach.. Art must make you laugh a little and make you a little afraid. Anything as long as it doesn't bore.
What the horrors of war are, no one can imagine. They are not wounds and blood and fever, spotted and low, or dysentery, chronic and acute, cold and heat and famine. They are intoxication, drunken brutality, demoralization and disorder on the part of the inferior... jealousies, meanness, indifference, selfish brutality on the part of the superior.
I was filled with such a dangerous delicious intoxication that I could have walked straight off the steps into the air, climbing on the strength of my own drunkeness into the stars. And the intoxication, as I knew even then, was the recklessness of infinite possibility.
Enthusiasm is the fever of reason.
And silence. She liked the silence most of all. The silence in which the body, senses, the instincts, are more alert, more powerful, more sensitized, live a more richly perfumed and intoxication life, instead of transmuting into thoughts, words, into exquisite abstractions, mathematics of emotion in place of violent impact, the volcanic eruptions of fever, lust and delight.
These individulas have riches just as we say that we 'have a fever,' when really the fever has us.
Love was a fever that came along a few years after chicken-pox and measles and scarlet fever.
The key to continual and deeper spiritual renewal and revival is the continual re-discovery of the gospel.
The progress of an artist is a continual self-sacrifice, a continual extinction of personality.
Impatience turns an ague into a fever, a fever to the plague, fear into despair, anger into rage, loss into madness, and sorrow to amazement.
I am glad it cannot happen twice, the fever of first love. For it is a fever, and a burden, too, whatever the poets may say.
To have children is a double living, the earthly fountain of youth, a continual fresh delight, a volcano as well as a fountain, and also a source of weariness beyond description.
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