Deeds, Not Words Shall Speak Me.

Hence, All You Vain Delights, As Short As Are The Nights Wherein You Spend Your Folly! There's Naught In This Life Sweet But Only Melancholy; O Sweetest Melancholy!

Man Is His Own Star, And The Soul That Can, Render An Honest And A Perfect Man, Commands All Light, All Influence, All Fate: Nothing To Him Falls Early Or Too Late. Our Acts Are Angels Are, For Good Or Ill: Our Fatal Shadows That Walk By Us Still.

Corruption Is A Tree, Whose Branches Are Of An Immeasurable Length: They Spread Ev'rywhere; And The Dew That Drops From Thence Hath Infected Some Chairs And Stools Of Authority.

We Must Not Be Content To Be Cleansed From Sin; We Must Be Filled With The Spirit.

Man Is His Own Star, And The Soul That Can Render An Honest And A Perfect Man, Commands All Light.