The Griefs Of Private Men Are Soon

If We Say That We Have No Sin, We Deceive Ourselves, And There's No Truth In Us. Why Then Belike We Must Sin, And So Consequently Die. Ay, We Must Die An Everlasting Death.

Jigging Veins Of Rhyming Mother Wits.

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

Make Me Immortal With A Kiss.

Our Swords Shall Play The Orators For Us.