You Are No Better Than You Should

Grace Comes Often Clad In The Dusky Robe Of Desolation.

There Is A Method In Man's Wickedness; It Grows Up By Degrees.

Let No Man Fear To Die, We Love To Sleep All, And Death Is But The Sounder Sleep.

As High As Heaven, As Deep As Hell.

Envy, Like The Worm, Never Runs But To The Fairest Fruit; Like A Cunning Bloodhound, It Singles Out The Fattest Deer In The Flock.