Thou Art The Mars Of Malcontents.

Th Abuse Of Greatness Is When It Disjoins Remorse From Power.

Can We Outrun The Heavens?

My Thought, Whose Murder Yet Is But Fantastical, Shakes So My Single State Of Man That Function Is Smothered In Surmise, And Nothing Is But What Is Not.

You Must Confine Yourself Within The Modest Limits Of Order.

Thus May Poor Fools Belive False Teachers.