When Bounteous Autumn Rears Her

Having Mourned Your Sin, For Outward Eden Lost, Find Paradise Within.

Thou Tyrant, Tyrant Jealousy, Thou Tyrant Of The Mind!

And After Hearing What Our Church Can Say, If Still Our Reason Runs Another Way, That Private Reason 'tis More Just To Curb, Than By Disputes The Public Peace Disturb; For Points Obscure Are Of Small Use To Learn, But Common Quiet Is Mankind's Concern.

War Is The Trade Of Kings.

Damn'd Neuters, In Their Middle Way Of Steering, Are Neither Fish, Nor Flesh, Nor Good Red Herring.