I Sighed As A Lover, I Obeyed

Vicissitudes Of Fortune, Which Spares Neither Man Nor The Proudest Of His Works, Which Buries Empires And Cities In A Common Grave.

Yet The Arts Of Severus Cannot Be Justified By The Most Ample Privileges Of State Reason. He Promised Only To Betray; He Flattered Only To Ruin; And However He Might Occasionally Bind Himself By Oaths And Treaties, His Conscience, Obsequious To His Interest, Always Released Him From The Inconvenient Obligation.

Does There Exist A Single Instance Of A Saint Asserting That He Himself Possessed The Gift Of Miracles?

Whenever The Spirit Of Fanaticism, At Once So Credulous And So Crafty, Has Insinuated Itself Into A Noble Mind, It Insensibly Corrodes The Vital Principles Of Virtue And Veracity.

The Revenge Of A Guilty Woman Is Implacable.