Great Sins Are Great Possessions;

That Soul That Can Reflect Upon Itself, Consider Itself, Is More Than So.

Nothing But Man Of All Envenomed Things, Doth Work Upon Itself, With Inborn Stings.

Die Not, Poore Death, Nor Yet Canst Thou Kill Me.

Men Are Sponges, Which, To Pour Out, Receive; Who Know False Play, Rather Than Lose, Deceive. For In Best Understandings Sin Began, Angels Sinn'd First, Then Devils, And Then Man. Only Perchance Beasts Sin Not ; Wretched We Are Beasts In All But White Integrity.

No Spring Nor Summer Beauty Hath Such Grace As I Have Seen In One Autumnal Face.