All places are alike, and every earth is fit for burial.

Things that are not at all, are never lost.

I count religion but a childish toy, and hold there is no sin but ignorance.

If we say that we have no sin, We deceive ourselves, and there's no truth in us. Why then belike we must sin, And so consequently die. Ay, we must die an everlasting death.

All places are alike, and every earth is fit for burial.

I am Envy...I cannot read and therefore wish all books burned.

The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike