Heaven but the vision of fulfilled desire, and Hell the shadow from a soul on fire.

Myself when young did eagerly frequent doctor and saint, and heard great argument about it and about: but evermore came out by the same door as in I went.

This body is a tent which for a space Does the pure soul with kingly presence grace; When he departs, comes the tent-pitcher, Death, Strikes it, and moves to a new halting-place.

Oh, the brave Music of a distant drum!

Be happy for this moment. This moment is your life.

For in and out, above, about, below, 'Tis nothing but a Magic Shadow-show, Played in a Box whose Candle is the Sun, Round which we Phantom Figures come and go.

Fools, your reward is neither here nor there.