Ink is the blood of the printing-press.
Fame is the last infirmity of the human mind.
Ease would recant Vows made in pain, as violent and void.
Confusion heard his voice, and wild uproar Stood ruled, stood vast infinitude confined; Till at his second bidding darkness fled, Light shone, and order from disorder sprung.
Evil on itself shall back recoil.
Beyond is all abyss, eternity, whose end no eye can reach.