When one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language.

Death, thou shalt die.

My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears, And true plain hearts do in the faces rest; Where can we find two better hemispheres, Without sharp north, without declining west? Whatever dies, was not mix'd equally; If our two loves be one, or, thou and I Love so alike, that none do slacken, none can die.

Be more than man, or thou'rt less than an ant.

Men have conceived a twofold use of sleep; it is a refreshing of the body in this life, and a preparing of the soul for the next.

When one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language.

As peace is of all goodness, so war is an emblem, a hieroglyphic, of all misery.