Strike Up The Drum And March Courageously.

What Feeds Me Destroys Me.

Religion! O Diabole! Fie, I Am Asham'd, However That I Seem, To Think A Word Of Such Simple Sound, Of Such Great Matter Should Be Made The Ground.

I Count Religion But A Childish Toy, And Hold There Is No Sin But Ignorance.

My Men Like Satyrs Grazing On The Lawns, / Shall With Their Goat-feet Dance An Antic Hay.

Religion Hides Many Mischiefs From Suspicion.