Perfect Love Casteth Out Fear.

My Prison Shall Be My Grave Before I Will Budge A Jot; For I Owe My Conscience To No Mortal Man.

It Is The Difference Betwixt Lust And Love That This Is Fixed, That Volatile. Love Grows, Lust Wastes By Enjoyment.

Peace Can Only Be Secured By Justice; Never By Force Of Arms.

Neither Great Nor Good Things Were Ever Attained Without Loss And Hardships. Those That Would Reap And Not Labour, Must Faint With The Wind, And Perish In Disappointments; But An Hair Of My Head Shall Not Fall, Without The Providence Of My Father That Is Over All.

It Is Wise Not To Seek A Secret, And Honest Not To Reveal One.