Praise Is A Debt We Owe Unto

As Sins Proceed They Ever Multiply, And Like Figures In Arithmetic, The Last Stands For More Than All That Wert Before It.

I Could Be Content That We Might Procreate Like Trees, Without Conjunction, Or That We Were Any Way To Perpetuate The World Without This Trivial And Vulgar Way Of Coition; It Is The Foolishest Act A Wise Man Commits In All His Life.

Age Doth Not Rectify, But Incurvate Our Natures, Turning Bad Dispositions Into Worser Habits.

I Had Rather Stand The Shock Of A Basilisk Than The Fury Of A Merciless Pen.

I Love To Lose Myself In A Mystery To Pursue My Reason To An O Altitudo.