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.
Perhaps we should assess our lives according to how conducive they are to drunkeness, to the loss of a sense of time passing. How many pregnant moments are available to us where every blade of grass or drop of water is a source of such hyperbolic fascination that time flows without measure?
The authorities would surely be opposed, which is why few think of this as the paradigm of a good life. Why do we listen to them?