Be Sure They Sleep Not Whom God

The Best Way To Excape His Ire Is, Not To Seem Too Happy.

The Devil, That Old Stager, Who Leads Downward, Perhaps, But Fiddles All The Way!

Days Decrease, / And Autumn Grows, Autumn In Everything.

What's The Earth With All Its Art, Verse, Music, Worth — Compared With Love, Found, Gained, And Kept?

And I Have Written Three Books On The Soul, Proving Absurd All Written Hitherto, And Putting Us To Ignorance Again.