O you proud Christians, wretched souls and small,/ Who by the dim lights of your twisted minds/ Believe you prosper even as you fall,/ Can you not see that we are worms, each one/ Born to become the angelic butterfly/ That flies defenseless to the Judgement Throne?

Conscience, that boon companion who sets a man free under the strong breastplate of innocence, that bids him on and fear not.

Because there is no man who can be true and just judge of himself, so much will self-love deceive him.

Here pity only lives when it is dead - Virgil

Fame is not won on downy plumes nor under canopies; the man who consumes his days without obtaining it leaves such mark of himself on earth as smoke in air or foam on water.

The day that man allows true love to appear, those things which are well made will fall into cofusion and will overturn everything we believe to be right and true.

If your world isn't right, the cause is in you.