Fowls, by winter forced, forsake the floods, and wing their hasty flight to happier lands.
We first make our habits, and then our habits make us.
Death in itself is nothing; but we fear to be we know not what, we know not where.
For your ignorance is the mother of your devotion to me.
The thought of being nothing after death is a burden insupportable to a virtuous man.
From Harmony, from heav'nly Harmony. This universal Frame began.