God employs several translators some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness, some by war, some by justice.

Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so. For, those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow. Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

Art is the most passionate orgy within man's grasp.

Love built on beauty, soon as beauty, dies.

No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.

Any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in Mankind And therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls it tolls for thee.

Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so. For, those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow. Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

Reason is our soul's left hand, faith her right.

He must pull out his own eyes, and see no creature, before he can say, he sees no God He must be no man, and quench his reasonable soul, before he can say to himself, there is no God.

More than kisses, letters mingle souls.