Religion A Stalking Horse To Shoot Other

A Man Of Great Memory Without Learning Hath A Rock And A Spindle And No Staff To Spin.

Hee That Loves The Tree, Loves The Branch.

Listen, Sweet Dove, Unto My Song, And Spread Thy Golden Wings In Me; Hatching My Tender Heart So Long, Till It Get Wing, And Flie Away With Thee.

God Complaines Not, But Doth What Is Fitting.

It's Absurd To Warme One In His Armour.