Death Comes Equally To Us All, And

What Gnashing Is Not A Comfort, What Gnawing Of The Worm Is Not A Tickling, What Torment Is Not A Marriage Bed To This Damnation, To Be Secluded Eternally, Eternally, Eternally From The Sight Of God?

I Shall Die Reading; Since My Book And A Grave Are So Near.

Love Built On Beauty, Soon As Beauty, Dies.

All Our Life Is But A Going Out To The Place Of Execution, To Death.

The Flea, Though He Kill None, He Does All The Harm He Can.