Light is the shadow of God.

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

Sleep is death's younger brother, and so like him, that I never dare trust him without my prayers.

For the world, I count it not an inn, but a hospital; and a place not to live, but to die in.

Lord deliver me from myself.

Life itself is but the shadow of death, and souls departed but the shadows of the living: All things fall under this name. The Sun itself is but the dark simulacrum, and the light but the shadow of God.

Let any stranger find mee so pleasant a county, such good way, large heath, three such places as Norwich, Yar. and Lin. in any county of England, and I'll bee once again a vagabond to visit them.