Have there ever been more submissive slaves? Adoring, even in their irons, the God who punishes them.
Hell, covering all with its gloomy vapors, has cast shadows on even the holiest eyes.
You who love wild passions, flee the holy austerity of my pleasures. All here breathes of God, peace and truth.
Wrinkles on the brow are the imprints of exploits.
The part I remember best is the beginning.
Crime like virtue has its degrees; and timid innocence was never known to blossom suddenly into extreme license.