Death is an ascension to a better library.

Christ beats his drum, but he does not press men; Christ is served with voluntaries.

O how feeble is man's power, that if good fortune fall, cannot add another hour, nor a lost hour recall!

At the round earth's imagined corners, blow Your trumpets, angels, and arise, arise From death, you numberless infinities Of souls **** All whom war, dearth, age, agues, tyrannies, Despair, law, chance, hath slain.

Death comes equally to us all, and makes us all equal when it comes.

The sun must not set upon anger, much less will I let the sun set upon the anger of God towards me.

He must pull out his own eyes, and see no creature, before he can say, he sees no God; He must be no man, and quench his reasonable soul, before he can say to himself, there is no God.