I Find No Abhorring In My Appetite.

I Do Not Love A Man, Except I Hate His Vices, Because Those Vices Are The Enemies, And The Destruction Of That Friend Whom I Love.

To Rage, To Lust, To Write To, To Commend, All Is The Purlieu Of The God Of Love.

I Count All That Part Of My Life Lost Which I Spent Not In Communion With God, Or In Doing Good.

If I Lose At Play, I Blaspheme; If My Fellow Loses, He Blasphemes. So, God Is Always The Loser.

...whatever Dies Was Not Mixed Equally, If Our Two Loves Be One Or Thou And I Love So Alike That None Can Slacken, None Can Die.