The long habit of living indisposeth us for dying.

To extend our memories by monuments, whose death we daily pray for, and whose duration we cannot hope, without injury to our expectations in the advent of the last day, were a contradiction to our belief.

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

I envy no man that knows more than myself, but pity them that know less.

A man may be in as just possession of the truth as of a city, and yet be forced to surrender.

Be able to be alone. Lose not the advantage of solitude.

We term sleep a death, and yet it is waking that kills us, and destroys those spirits that are the house of life.