The Atheist, no longer an execration, an astonishment, a curse, and a reproach, poses now as the friend of man and the champion of right.
Those who incur the last and most terrible curse in this book, do so in the name of that truth for which they profess to be seeking.

Art, profanely veiling its voluptuous nakedness with the attributes of religion, disguises folly so subtly that it seems like virtue in the slothful eyes of those who neglect continually to watch and pray.

The vain woman puts on her ornaments to do honor to her Creator's handiwork: the lustful man casts away his soul that society may be kept clean: there is not left in these latter days a sin that does not pretend to work the world's salvation, nor a man who flatters not himself that the sin of one may be the purging of many.

To such I say, Look to your own soul: of no other shall any account be demanded of you.

A day shall come in which a fire shall be kindled among your gods.