This Is A Sickness Rooted And Inherent

When We Sleep The Soul Is Lit Up... By Many Eyes, And With Them, We Can See Everything That We Cannot See In The Daytime.

O Death The Healer, Scorn Thou Not, I Pray, To Come To Me: Of Cureless Ills Thou Art The One Physician. Pain Lays Not Its Touch Upon A Corpse.

Know Yourself And Fit Yourself To New Fashions. For There Is A New Ruler Among The Gods.

A Man Dies Not For The Many Wounds That Pierce His Breast, Unless It Be That Life's End Keep Pace With Death, Nor By Sitting On His Hearth At Home Doth He The More Escape His Appointed Doom.

For The Impious Act Begets More After It, Like To The Parent Stock.