The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike
Fornication: but that was in another country; And besides, the wench is dead.
Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed In one self place, for where we are is hell, And where hell is there must we ever be.
Is it not passing brave to be a King and ride in triumph through Persepolis?
I count religion but a childish toy, and hold there is no sin but ignorance.
All places are alike, and every earth is fit for burial.