Where I Cannot Satisfy My Reason, I

Let Him Have The Key Of Thy Heart, Who Hath The Lock Of His Own.

I Can Cure The Gout Or Stone In Some, Sooner Than Divinity, Pride, Or Avarice In Others.

The Heart Of Man Is The Place The Devil Dwells In; I Feel Sometimes A Hell Within Myself.

But The Iniquity Of Oblivion Blindly Scattereth Her Poppy, And Deals With The Memory Of Men Without Distinction To Merit Of Perpetuity.

To Extend Our Memories By Monuments, Whose Death We Daily Pray For, And Whose Duration We Cannot Hope, Without Injury To Our Expectations In The Advent Of The Last Day, Were A Contradiction To Our Belief.