A man is never alone, not only because he is with himself and his own thoughts, but because he is with the Devil, who ever consorts with our solitude.

How shall we expect charity towards others, when we are uncharitable to ourselves?

With what shift and pains we come into the World we remember not; but 'tis commonly found no easy matter to get out of it.

What song the Syrens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women, though puzzling questions, are not beyond all conjecture.

Grave-stones tell truth scarce forty years. Generations pass while families last not three oaks.

Think not silence the wisdom of fools; but, if rightly timed, the honor of wise men, who have not the infirmity, but the virtue of taciturnity.

Whosoever enjoys not this life, I count him but an apparition, though he wear about him the sensible affections of flesh. In these moral acceptions, the way to be immortal is to die daily.