To Rage, To Lust, To Write To,

To Rage, To Lust, To Write To, To Commend, All Is The Purlieu Of The God Of Love.

Sleep With Clean Hands, Either Kept Clean All Day By Integrity Or Washed Clean At Night By Repentance.

In Heaven It Is Always Autumn.

Lust-bred Diseases Rot Thee.

The World Is A Great Volume, And Man The Index Of That Book; Even In The Body Of Man, You May Turn To The Whole World.