We Love Without Heeding Reason, And Cease

When A Sonnet Is Mediocre It Is Bad, For It Should Be Sublime.

In The Mean Time I Worship God, Laying Every Wrong Action Under An Interdict Which I Endeavour To Respect, And I Loathe The Wicked Without Doing Them Any Injury.

Should I Perchance Still Feel After My Death, I Would No Longer Have Any Doubt, But I Would Most Certainly Give The Lie To Anyone Asserting Before Me That I Was Dead.

For My Future I Have No Concern, And As A True Philosopher, I Never Would Have Any, For I Know Not What It May Be: As A Christian, On The Other Hand, Faith Must Believe Without Discussion, And The Stronger It Is, The More It Keeps Silent.

We Ourselve Are The Authors Of Almost All Our Woes And Griefs, Of Which We So Unreasonably Complain.