Is Then Thy Knowledge Of No Value,

The Man Who Wishes To Bend Me With His Tale Of Woe Must Shed True Tears - Not Tears That Have Been Got Ready Overnight.

Out Of Nothing Can Come, And Nothing Can Become Nothing.

Please Not Thyself The Flattering Crowd To Hear; 'tis Fulsome Stuff, To Please Thy Itching Ear. Survey Thy Soul, Not What Thou Does Appear, But What Thou Art.

Let Them (the Wicked) See The Beauty Of Virtue, And Pine At Having Forsaken Her. [lat., Virtutem Videant, Intabescantque Relicta.]

I Know You Even Under The Skin.