Among Unequals What Society Can Sort, What

But O Yet More Miserable! Myself My Sepulchre, A Moving Grave.

The Martyrs Shook The Powers Of Darkness With The Irresistible Power Of Weakness.

Give Me The Liberty To Know, To Utter, And To Argue Freely According To Conscience, Above All Liberties.

Long Is The Way And Hard, That Out Of Hell Leads Up To Light.

Each Tree Laden With Fairest Fruit, That Hung To Th' Eye Tempting, Stirr'd In Me Sudden Appetite To Pluck And Eat.