The secret must be kept from all non-people. The mystery must be hidden from all idiots.

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.

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.

My friend, let's not think of tomorrow, but let's enjoy this fleeting moment of life.

The Revelations of Devout and Learn'd Who rose before us, and as Prophets burn'd, Are all but Stories, which, awoke from Sleep They told their comrades, and to Sleep return'd.

If I don't enjoy myself now, when shall I?

Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and-sans End!