Think it more satisfactory to live richly than die rich.

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

There is nothing strictly immortal, but immortality. Whatever hath no beginning may be confident of no end.

There is no man alone, because every man is a Microcosm, and carries the whole world about him.

Whosoever enjoys not this life, I count him but an apparition, though he wear about him the sensible affections of flesh. In these moral acceptions, the way to be immortal is to die daily.

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.

There are mystically in our faces certain characters which carry in them the motto of our souls, wherein he that cannot read may read our natures.