Oblivion Has Been Noticed As The Offspring

The Secret Heart Is Fair Devotion's Temple; There The Saint, Even On That Living Altar, Lights The Flame Of Purest Sacrifice, Which Burns Unseen, Not Unaccepted.

Names Govern The World.

The Wretch Who Digs The Mine For Bread, Or Ploughs, That Others May Be Fed, Feels Less Fatigued Than That Decreed To Him Who Cannot Think Or Read.

Our Infinite Obligations To God Do Not Fill Our Hearts Half As Much As A Petty Uneasiness Of Our Own; Nor His Infinite Perfections As Much As Our Smallest Wants.

We Contrive To Make Revenge Itself Look Like Religion. We Call Down Thunder On Many A Head Under Pretence, That Those On Whom We Invoke It Are God's Enemies, When Perhaps We Invoke It Because They Are Ours.