Greatness Knows Itself.

O Heresy In Fair, Fit For These Days, A Giving Hand, Though Foul, Shall Have Fair Praise.

Not Proud You Have, But Thankful That You Have. Proud Can I Never Be Of What I Hate, But Thankful Even For Hate That Is Meant Love.

The Expedition Of My Violent Love Outrun The Pauser, Reason.

It Is The Disease Of Not Listening...... That I Am Troubled With.

We Wound Our Modesty And Make Foul The Clearness Of Our Deservings, When Of Ourselves We Publish Them.