O Lord, Never Suffer Us

For I Am Every Dead Thing In Whom Love Wrought New Alchemy For His Art Did Express A Quintessence Even From Nothingness, From Dull Privations, And Lean Emptiness He Ruined Me, And I Am Re-begot Of Absence, Darkness, Death; Things Which Are Not.

Nature Hath No Goal Though She Hath Law.

Reason Is Our Soul's Left Hand, Faith Her Right, By These We Reach Divinity

Ask Not For Whom The Bell Tolls; It Tolls For Thee

Friends Are Ourselves.