Poor Intricated Soul! Riddling, Perplexed, Labyrinthical Soul!

Doth Not A Man Die Even In His Birth? The Breaking Of Prison Is Death, And What Is Our Birth, But A Breaking Of Prison?

No Man Is An Island Unto Himself.

I Long To Talk With Some Old Lover's Ghost, Who Died Before The God Of Love Was Born.

If Poisonous Minerals, And If That Tree, Whose Fruit Threw Death On Else Immortal Us, If Lecherous Goats, If Serpents Envious Cannot Be Damned; Alas; Why Should I Be?

Humiliation Is The Beginning Of Sanctification.