I Am Not So Much Afraid Of

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.

He That Unburied Lies Wants Not His Hearse, For Unto Him A Tomb's The Universe.

Now With My Friend I Desire Not To Share Or Participate, But To Engross His Sorrows, That, By Making Them Mine Own, I May More Easily Discuss Them; For In Mine Own Reason, And Within Myself, I Can Command That Which I Cannot Entreat Without Myself, And Within The Circle Of Another.

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

Let Age, Not Envy, Draw Wrinkles On Thy Cheeks.