The noblest Digladiation is in the Theatre of ourselves.

Though it be in the power of the weakest arm to take away life, it is not in the strongest to deprive us of death.

Rich with the spoils of nature.

Light is but the shadow of God.

But the iniquity of oblivion blindly scattereth her poppy, and deals with the memory of men without distinction to merit of perpetuity.

Half our days we pass in the shadow of the earth; and the brother of death exacteth a third part of our lives.

Every Country hath its Machiavel.