A Dead Body Revenges Not

He Who Has Few Things To Desire Cannot Have Many To Fear.

O White-robed Angel, Guide My Timorous Hand To Write As On A Lofty Rock With Iron Pen The Words Of Truth, That All Who Pass May Read.

All Futurity Seems Teeming With Endless Destruction Never To Be Repelled; Desperate Remorse Swallows The Present In A Quenchless Rage.

Love Seeketh Not Itself To Please, Nor For Itself Hath Any Care, But For Another Gives Its Ease, And Builds A Heaven In Hell's Despair.

Let The Men Do Their Duty & The Women Will Be Such Wonders; The Female Life Lives From The Light Of The Male: See A Man's Female Dependants, You Know The Man.