No One Every Suddenly Became Depraved.

No Man Becomes Bad All At Once.

Trust Me No Tortures Which The Poets Feign Can Match The Fierce Unutterable Pain He Feels, Who Night And Day Devoid Of Rest Carries His Own Accuser In His Breast.

By His Own Verdict No Guilty Man Was Ever Acquitted.

All Arts His Own, The Hungry Greekling Counts; And Bid Him Mount The Skies, The Skies He Mounts.

An Incurable Itch For Scribbling Takes Possession Of Many, And Grows Inveterate In Their Insane Breasts.