I wonder by my troth, what thou, and I Did, till we loved? were we not weaned till then? But sucked on country pleasures, childishly? Or snorted we in the seven sleepers' den?

Death, thou shalt die.

Despair is the damp of hell, as joy is the serenity of heaven.

For love all love of other sights controls and makes one little room an everywhere

God himself took a day to rest in, and a good man's grave is his Sabbath.

To be no part of any body, is to be nothing.

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