Who Then To Frail Mortality Shall Trust

Man Was Formed For Society.

Beauty Itself Is But The Sensible Image Of The Infinite.

Above All, Believe It, The Sweetest Canticle Is Nunc Dimittis, When A Man Hath Obtained Worthy Ends And Expectations. Death Hath This Also, That It Openeth The Gate To Good Fame, And Extinguisheth Envy.

Vices Of The Time; Vices Of The Man.

Religion Brought Forth Riches, And The Daughter Devoured The Mother.