Sin, When It Is Finished, Bringeth Forth

If Thy Words Be Too Luxuriant, Confine Them, Lest They Confine Thee; He That Thinks He Never Can Speak Enough May Easily Speak Too Much. A Full Tongue And An Empty Brain Are Seldom Parted.

How Is The Anxious Soul Of Man Befool'd In His Desire, That Thinks An Hectic Fever May Be Cool'd In Flames Of Fire?

No Man's Condition Is So Base As His; None More Accurs'd Than He; For Man Esteems Him Hateful, 'cause He Seems Not What He Is; God Hates Him, 'cause He Is Not What He Seems; What Grief Is Absent, Or What Mischief Can Be Added To The Hate Of God And Man?

Death's A Fable. Did Not Heaven Inspire Your Equal Elements With Living Fire Blown From The Spring Of Life? Is Not That Breath Immortal? Come; Ye Are As Free From Death As He That Made Ye: Can The Flames Expire Which He Kindled?

Knowledge Descries; Wisdom Applies.