Sleep With Clean Hands, Either

Sleep With Clean Hands, Either Kept Clean All Day By Integrity Or Washed Clean At Night By Repentance.

For God's Sake Hold Your Tongue, And Let Me Love.

For I Am Every Dead Thing In Whom Love Wrought New Alchemy For His Art Did Express A Quintessence Even From Nothingness, From Dull Privations, And Lean Emptiness He Ruined Me, And I Am Re-begot Of Absence, Darkness, Death; Things Which Are Not.

Can There Be Worse Sickness, Than To Know That We Are Never Well, Nor Can Be So?

Friends Are Ourselves.