Virtue, I Grant You, Is An Empty

And Each Blasphemer Quite Escape The Rod, Because The Insult's Not On Man, But God?

But Thinks, Admitted To That Equal Sky, His Faithful Dog Shall Bear Him Company.

How Loved, How Honored Once, Avails Thee Not, To Whom Related, Or By Whom Begot A Heap Of Dust Alone Remains Of Thee 'tis All Thou Art, And All The Proud Shall Be!

No Writing Is Good That Does Not Tend To Better Mankind In Some Way Or Other.

What Riches Give Us Let Us Then Inquire: Meat, Fire, And Clothes. What More? Meat, Clothes, And Fire. Is This Too Little?