How Shall We Expect Charity Towards Others,

Every Country Hath Its Machiavel.

I Believe The World Grows Near Its End, Yet Is Neither Old Nor Decayed, Nor Will Ever Perish Upon The Ruins Of Its Own Principles.

Sleep Is A Death, O Make Me Try By Sleeping, What It Is To Die, And As Gently Lay My Head On My Grave, As Now My Bed.

For There Is A Music Wherever There Is A Harmony, Order, Or Proportion, And Thus Far We May Maintain The Music Of The Spheres.

Light Is The Shadow Of God.