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.

I love to lose myself in a mystery to pursue my reason to an O altitudo.

Death hath a thousand doors to let out life. I shall find one.

Let him have the key of thy heart, who hath the lock of his own.

For there is a music wherever there is a harmony, order, or proportion, and thus far we may maintain the music of the spheres.

Oblivion is not to be hired.

I could be content that we might procreate like trees, without conjunction, or that we were any way to perpetuate the world without this trivial and vulgar way of coition; it is the foolishest act a wise man commits in all his life.