I on the other side Us'd no ambition to commend my deeds; The deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud the doer.
John MiltonAnd that must end us, that must be our cure: To be no more. Sad cure! For who would lose, Though full of pain, this intellectual being, Those thoughts that wander through eternity, To perish, rather, swallowed up and lost In the wide womb of uncreated night Devoid of sense and motion?
John Milton