I can no other answer make, but, thanks, and thanks.
However wickedness outstrips men, it has no wings to fly from God.
The readiness is all.
But thou, contracted to thine own bright eyes, Feed'st thy light's flame with self-substantial fuel, Making a famine where abundance lies, Thyself thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel.
The ostentation of our love, which, left unshown, is often left unloved.
I always thought it was both impious and unnatural that such immanity and bloody strife should reign among professors of one faith.