Nothing Of Him That Doth Fade But

I Have Made My Bed In Charnels And On Coffins, Where Black Death Keeps Record Of The Trophies Won

God Is A Hypothesis, And, As Such, Stands In Need Of Proof; The Onus Probandi Rests On The Theist.

Duty And Dereliction Guide Thee Back To Solitude.

Rough Wind, The Moanest Loud Grief Too Sad For Song; Wild Wind, When Sullen Cloud Knells All The Night Long; Sad Storm, Whose Tears Are Vain, Bare Woods, Whose Branches Strain, Deep Caves And Dreary Main, Wail, For The World's Wrong!

Sometimes The Devil Is A Gentleman.