Hark! She is called, the parting hour is come. Take thy farewell, poor world! Heaven must go home. . . .
Nothing speaks our grief so well as to speak nothing.
Heaven's great artillery.
Locked up from mortal eye in shady leaves of destiny.
Two went to pray? Better to say one went to brag, the other to pray.
And when life's sweet fable ends, soul and body part like friends; no quarrels, murmurs, no delay; a kiss, a sigh, and so away.