I Throw Myself Down In My Chamber,

Doth Not A Man Die Even In His Birth? The Breaking Of Prison Is Death, And What Is Our Birth, But A Breaking Of Prison?

Poor Heretics There Be,which Think To Establish Dangerous Constancy,but I Have Told Them, ‘since You Will Be True,you Shall Be True To Them, Who Are False To You.

Die Not, Poore Death, Nor Yet Canst Thou Kill Me.

We Love And Understand Talent; We Wish It Be Within Us. The Truly Gifted, Those Exceptional Few, Must Wait For The World To Catch Up.

At The Round Earth's Imagined Corners, Blow Your Trumpets, Angels, And Arise, Arise From Death, You Numberless Infinities Of Souls **** All Whom War, Dearth, Age, Agues, Tyrannies, Despair, Law, Chance, Hath Slain.