Excerpt, "Dead Souls" by Nikolai Gogol

At the meeting under way there was precious little of the stuff that the common people call horse sense. In general, our people are not too successful with representative institutions. In all our assemblies -- from peasants' council, the mir, to all sorts of learned and other committees -- there is always great confusion unless someone is found to direct the proceedings. It's hard to explain why, but the meetings and assemblies at which we're most successful are those convened for the purpose of drinking. And yet there are people ready for anything at any time. Charitable, philanthropic, and God-knows-what societies are apt to crop up with every change in the wind. The purpose may be magnificent, but nothing comes of it. Perhaps it's because we feel satisfied from the very outset and think our objective has already been achieved. Thus, having formed, say, a philanthropic organization for the benefit of the poor and having raised considerable funds for that purpose, we immediately organize a big dinner for the high dignitaries in celebration of our praiseworthy initiative, thus spending half the contributions collected. Then we rent a luxurious office suite for the committee, with heating, watchmen, porters, and all, after which there are five rubles fifty left for the poor. And even then the committee members can't reach an agreement on where the sum's to go, for everyone has some relative in mind.

-- Nikolai Gogol, Dead Souls, trans. Andrew MacAndrew, New American Library, New York, 1961: 222.

Poem, "Get Drunk!" by Charles Baudelaire

One should always be drunk. That's all that matters; that's our one imperative need. So as not to feel Time's horrible burden that breaks your shoulders and bows you down, you must get drunk without ceasing.

But what with? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you choose. But get drunk.

And if, at some time, on the steps of a palace, in the green grass of a ditch, in the bleak solitude of your room, you are waking up when drunkenness has already abated, ask the wind, the wave, a star, the clock, all that which flees, all that which groans, all that which rolls, all that which sings, all that which speaks, ask them what time it is; and the wind, the wave, the star, the bird, the clock will reply: 'It is time to get drunk! So that you may not be the martyred slaves of Time, get drunk; get drunk, and never pause for rest! With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you choose!'

-- Charles Baudelaire, "Get Drunk!," Twenty Prose Poems, trans. Michael Hamburger, First City Lights Books Edition 1988, p. 55.