Half Our Days We Pass In The

I Am Not So Much Afraid Of Death, As Ashamed Thereof, 'tis The Very Disgrace And Ignominy Of Our Natures.

The Noblest Digladiation Is In The Theatre Of Ourselves.

Life Itself Is But The Shadow Of Death, And Souls Departed But The Shadows Of The Living: All Things Fall Under This Name. The Sun Itself Is But The Dark Simulacrum, And The Light But The Shadow Of God.

Yet Is Every Man His Greatest Enemy, And, As It Were, His Own Executioner.

I Had Rather Stand The Shock Of A Basilisk Than The Fury Of A Merciless Pen.