I deny nothing, but doubt everything.

A thousand years may scare form a state. An hour may lay it in ruins.

Tis the perception of the beautiful, A fine extension of the faculties, Platonic, universal, wonderful, Drawn from the stars, and filtered through the skies, Without which life would be extremely dull

So do the dark in soul expire, Or live like scorpion girt by fire; So writhes the mind remorse hath riven, Unfit for earth, undoom'd for heaven, Darkness above, despair beneath, Around it flame, within it death.

I only know we loved in vain; I only feel-farewell! farewell!

In secret we met - In silence I grieve, That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? - With silence and tears

This is the patent age of new inventions for killing bodies, and for saving souls. All propagated with the best intentions.