Who Falls For Love Of God, Shall

Let Argument Bear No Unmusical Sound.

Words Borrowed Of Antiquity Do Lend A Kind Of Majesty To Style, And Are Not Without Their Delight Sometimes. For They Have The Authority Of Years, And Out Of Their Intermission Do Win To Themselves A Kind Of Grace-like Newness. But The Eldest Of The Present, And Newest Of The Past Language, Is The Best.

I Have No Urns, No Dusty Monuments; No Broken Images Of Ancestors, Wanting An Ear, Or Nose; No Forged Tales Of Long Descents, To Boast False Honors From.

Fear To Do Base, Unworthy Things Is Valor; If They Be One To Us, To Suffer Them Is Valor Too.

Guilt's A Terrible Thing.