Virtue Is The Fount Whence Honour Springs.

O, Thou Art Fairer Than The Evening Air Clad In The Beauty Of A Thousand Stars.

I Am Envy...i Cannot Read And Therefore Wish All Books Burned.

The Stars Move Still, Time Runs, The Clock Will Strike

Hell Strives With Grace For Conquest In My Breast. What Shall I Do To Shun The Snares Of Death?

Infinite Riches In A Little Room.