What Neat Repast Shall Feast Us, Light

Time, Though In Eternity, Applied To Motion, Measures All Things Durable By Present, Past, And Future.

Our Cure, To Be No More; Sad Cure!

All Hope Is Lost Of My Reception Into Grace; What Worse? For Where No Hope Is Left, Is Left No Fear.

This Is Servitude, To Serve The Unwise.

I Hate When Vice Can Bolt Her Arguments, And Virtue Has No Tongue To Check Her Pride.