I Am Such A Tender Ass, If

I...kisss The Tender Inward Of Thy Hand.

We Cannot Conceive Of Matter Being Formed Of Nothing, Since Things Require A Seed To Start From... Therefore There Is Not Anything Which Returns To Nothing, But All Things Return Dissolved Into Their Elements.

All's Well That Ends Well; Still The Fine's The Crown. Whate'er The Course, The End Is The Renown.

They Whose Guilt Within Their Bosom Lies, Imagine Every Eye Beholds Their Blame.

. . From This Moment The Very Firstlings Of My Heart Shall Be The Firstlings Of My Hand. And Even Now, To Crown My Thoughts With Acts, Be It Thought And Done.