Death is an ascension to a better library.

Man hath weaved out a net, and this net throwne upon the Heavens, and now they are his own.

Whilst my physicians by their love are grown Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie Flat on this bed.

Death be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so. For, those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow. Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.

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

We study health, and we deliberate upon our meats and drink and air and exercises, and we hew and we polish every stone that goes to that building; and so our health is a long and regular work. But in a minute a cannon batters all, overthrows all, demolishes all; a sickness unprevented for all our diligence, unsuspected for all our curiosity, nay, undeserved, if we consider only disorder, summons us, seizes us, possesses us, destroys us in an instant.

Oh do not die, for I shall hate All women so, when thou art gone.