Every Harlot Was A Virgin Once.

On No Other Ground Can I Sow My Seed Without Tearing Up Some Stinking Weed.

How Have You Left The Ancient Love That Bards Of Old Enjoyed In You! The Languid Strings Do Scarcely Move! The Sound Is Forced, The Notes Are Few!

Some Say That Happiness Is Not Good For Mortals, & They Ought To Be Answered That Sorrow Is Not Fit For Immortals & Is Utterly Useless To Any One; A Blight Never Does Good To A Tree, & If A Blight Kill Not A Tree But It Still Bear Fruit, Let None Say That The Fruit Was In Consequence Of The Blight.

The Road Of Excess Leads To The Palace Of Wisdom.

Some Will Say, Is Not God Alone The Prolific? I Answer, God Only Acts & Is, In Existing Beings Or Men.