All mankind is of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language; and every chapter must be so translated....As therefore the bell that rings to a sermon, calls not upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come: so this bell calls us all....No man is an island, entire of itself...any man's death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind; and therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.

Our faults are not seen, But past us; neither felt, but only in The punishment.

Wicked is not much worse than indiscreet.

True and false fears let us refrain, Let us love nobly, and live, and add again Years and years unto years, till we attain To write threescore ; this is the second of our reign.

Oft from new truths, and new phrase, new doubts grow, As strange attire aliens the men we know.

So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss, Which sucks two souls, and vapors both away.

Filled with her love, may I be rather grown Mad with much heart, than idiot with none.