I Love To Lose Myself In A

Forcible Ways Make Not An End Of Evil, But Leave Hatred And Malice Behind Them.

But The Iniquity Of Oblivion Blindly Scattereth Her Poppy, And Deals With The Memory Of Men Without Distinction To Merit Of Perpetuity.

A Little Water Makes A Sea, A Small Puff Of Wind A Tempest.

For The World, I Count It Not An Inn, But A Hospital; And A Place Not To Live, But To Die In.

The Discourses Of The Table Among True Loving Friends Are Held In Strict Silence.