The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars Did wander darkling in the eternal space.

Bologna is celebrated for producing popes, painters, and sausage.

In itself a thought, a slumbering thought is capable of years; and curdles a long life into one hour.

Those who will not reason, are bigots, those who cannot, are fools, and those who dare not, are slaves.

A small drop of ink makes thousands, perhaps millions... think.

What is Death, so it be but glorious? 'Tis a sunset; And mortals may be happy to resemble The Gods but in decay.

In hope to merit heaven by making earth a hell.