Could I Love Less, I Should Be

Where Imperfection Ceaseth, Heaven Begins.

We Must Not Pluck Death From The Maker's Hand.

True Faith Nor Biddeth Nor Abideth Form, The Bended Knee, The Eye Uplift; Is All Which Men Need Render; All Which God Can Bear. What To The Faith Are Forms? A Passing Speck, A Crow Upon The Sky.

He Who Has Most Of Heart Knows Most Of Sorrow.

Youth Might Be Wise; We Suffer Less From Pains Than Pleasures.