Lord Deliver Me From Myself.

Yet Is Every Man His Greatest Enemy, And, As It Were, His Own Executioner.

(death Is) A Leap Into The Dark.

But The Iniquity Of Oblivion Blindly Scattereth Her Poppy, And Deals With The Memory Of Men Without Distinction To Merit Of Perpetuity.

The Man Without A Navel Still Lives In Me.

A Diamond, Which Is The Hardest Of Stones, Not Yielding Unto Steel, Emery Or Any Other Thing, Is Yet Made Soft By The Blood Of A Goat.