Can A Faith That Does Nothing Be

You Who Love Wild Passions, Flee The Holy Austerity Of My Pleasures. All Here Breathes Of God, Peace And Truth.

Wrinkles On The Brow Are The Imprints Of Exploits.

Do Not They Bring It To Pass By Knowing That They Know Nothing At All?

Vice, Like Virtue, Grows In Small Steps, And No True Innocence Can Ever Fall At Once To Deepest Guilt.

What Does It Matter If, By Chance, A Little Vile Blood Be Spilled?