The created World is but a small Parenthesis in Eternity.
I had rather stand the shock of a basilisk than the fury of a merciless pen.
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.
The discourses of the table among true loving friends are held in strict silence.
The man without a navel still lives in me.
And surely, he that hath taken the true Altitude of Things, and rightly calculated the degenerate state of this Age, is not like to envy those that shall live in the next, much less three or four hundred Years hence, when no Man can comfortably imagine what Face this World will carry.