Even such isTime, which takes in trust Our youth, our joys, and all we have, And pays us but with age and dust, Who in the dark and silent grave When we have wandered all our ways Shuts up the story of our days, And from which earth, and grave, and dust The Lord shall raise me up, I trust.

But true love is a durable fire, In the mind ever burning, Never sick, never old, never dead, From itself never turning.

This is a sharp medicine, but it is a physician for all diseases and miseries.

Death, which hateth and destroyeth a man, is believed; God, which hath made him and loves him, is always deferred.

Historians desiring to write the actions of men, ought to set down the simple truth, and not say anything for love or hatred; also to choose such an opportunity for writing as it may be lawful to think what they will, and write what they think, which is a rare happiness of the time.

Better it were not to live than to live a coward.

I can't write a book commensurate with Shakespeare, but I can write a book by me.