Gardens were before gardeners, and but some hours after the earth.

Things evidently false are not only printed, but many things of truth most falsely set forth.

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.

I am not so much afraid of death, as ashamed thereof, 'tis the very disgrace and ignominy of our natures.

Who knows whether the best of men be known? or whether there be not more remarkable persons forgot, than any that stand remembered in the known account of time?

(Death is) A leap into the dark.

Every Country hath its Machiavel.