There are no grotesques in nature; not anything framed to fill up empty cantons, and unnecessary spaces.

Miserable men commiserate not themselves; bowelless unto others, and merciless unto their own bowels.

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.

The created World is but a small Parenthesis in Eternity.

We term sleep a death by which we may be literally said to die daily; in fine, so like death, I dare not trust it without my prayers.

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?

The long habit of living indisposeth us for dying.