Those Who Give Not Till They Die

The Blood That Is Once Inflamed With Wine Is Apt To Boil With Rage.

Perfection Is The Child Of Time.

And, If I Were So Low That I Accounted Myself The Worst Of All, Yet Some Would Account Themselves In Worse Case.

God Loves To See His Creatures Happy; Our Lawful Delight Is His; They Know Not God That Think To Please Him With Making Themselves Miserable. The Idolaters Thought It A Fit Service For Baal To Cut And Lance Themselves; Never Any Holy Man Looked For Thanks From The True God By Wronging Himself.

Our Good Purposes Foreslowed Are Become Our Tormentors Upon Our Deathbed.