My love though silly is more brave.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, And poppy, or charms, can make us sleep as well, And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then?

The world is a great volume, and man the index of that book; even in the body of man, you may turn to the whole world.

There is no health; physicians say that we, at best, enjoy but neutrality.

Chastity is not chastity in an old man, but a disability to be unchaste.

Nature's great masterpiece, an elephant; the only harmless great thing.

But think that we Are but turned aside to sleep.