Each Man Must Create His Own System

Abstinence Sows Sand All Over The Ruddy Limbs And Flaming Hair, But Desire Gratified Plants Fruits Of Life And Beauty There.

Life Delights In Life.

I Wander Thro' Each Charter'd Street, Near Where The Charter'd Thames Does Flow, And Mark In Every Face I Meet Marks Of Weakness, Marks Of Woe. In Every Cry Of Every Man, In Every Infant's Cry Of Fear, In Every Voice, In Every Ban, The Mind-forg'd Manacles I Hear. How The Chimney-sweeper's Cry Every Black'ning Church Appalls; And The Hapless Soldier's Sigh Runs In Blood Down Palace Walls. But Most Thro' Midnight Streets I Hear How The Youthful Harlot's Curse Blasts The New Born Infant's Tear, And Blights With Plagues The Marriage Hearse.

He Who Makes His Law A Curse, By His Own Law Shall Surely Die.

Fun I Love, But Too Much Fun Is Of All Things The Most Loathsome. Mirth Is Better Than Fun, And Happiness Is Better Than Mirth.