I Am A Man, And Nothing That

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?

I Can Hear Those Glances That You Think Are Silent.

Hell, Covering All With Its Gloomy Vapors, Has Cast Shadows On Even The Holiest Eyes.

Sir, That Much Prudence Calls For Too Much Worry; I Cannot Foresee Misfortunes So Far Away.