Is It Not Of The Imagination That

There Is A Kind Of Pleasure Which Comes From Sacrilege Or The Profanation Of The Objects Offered Us For Worship.

They Declaim Against The Passions Without Bothering To Think That It Is From Their Flame Philosophy Lights Its Torch.

We Are No Guiltier In Following The Primative Impulses That Govern Us Than Is The Nile For Her Floods Or The Sea For Her Waves.

Hope Is The Most Sensitive Part Of A Poor Wretch's Soul; Whoever Raises It Only To Torment Him Is Behaving Like The Executioners In Hell Who, They Say, Incessantly Renew Old Wounds And Concentrate Their Attention On That Area Of It That Is Already Lacerated.

In An Age That Is Utterly Corrupt, The Best Policy Is To Do As Others Do.