Death Hath A Thousand Doors To Let

I Could Be Content That We Might Procreate Like Trees, Without Conjunction, Or That We Were Any Way To Perpetuate The World Without This Trivial And Vulgar Way Of Coition; It Is The Foolishest Act A Wise Man Commits In All His Life.

Thus Is Man That Great And True Amphibium, Whose Nature Is Disposed To Live, Not Onely Like Other Creatures In Divers Elements, But In Divided And Distinguished Worlds: For Though There Be But One To Sense, There Are Two To Reason, The One Visible, The Other Invisible.

Age Doth Not Rectify, But Incurvate Our Natures, Turning Bad Dispositions Into Worser Habits.

Sleep Is A Death, O Make Me Try By Sleeping, What It Is To Die, And As Gently Lay My Head On My Grave, As Now My Bed.

The Long Habit Of Living Indisposeth Us For Dying.