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No Christian and, indeed, no historian could accept the epigram which defines religion as \'what a man does with his
solitude.\'
C. S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory

CXI



O! for my sake do you with Fortune chide,

The guilty goddess of my harmful deeds,

That did not better for my life provide

Than public means which public manners breeds.

Thence comes it that my name receives a brand,

And almost thence my nature is subdu\'d

To what it works in, like the dyer\'s hand:

Pity me, then, and wish I were renew\'d;

Whilst, like a willing patient, I will drink,

Potions of eisel \'gainst my strong infection;

No bitterness that I will bitter think,

Nor double penance, to correct correction.

  Pity me then, dear friend, and I assure ye,

  Even that your pity is enough to cure me.

 	--William Shakespeare