Our Swords Shall Play The Orators For

Virtue Is The Fount Whence Honour Springs.

What Feeds Me Destroys Me.

Ah Fair Zenocrate, Divine Zenocrate, Fair Is Too Foul An Epithet For Thee.

It Lies Not In Our Power To Love Or Hate, For Will In Us Is Overruled By Fate.

Why This Is Hell, Nor Am I Out Of It: Thinkst Thou That I Who Saw The Face Of God, And Tasted The Eternal Joys Of Heaven, Am Not Tormented With Ten Thousand Hells In Being Deprived Of Everlasting Bliss! . . . When All The World Dissolves, And Every Creature Shall Be Purified, All Places Shall Be Hell That Are Not Heaven.