I Envy No Man That Knows More

The Long Habit Of Living Indisposeth Us For Dying.

Oblivion Is Not To Be Hired.

Whosoever Enjoys Not This Life, I Count Him But An Apparition, Though He Wear About Him The Sensible Affections Of Flesh. In These Moral Acceptions, The Way To Be Immortal Is To Die Daily.

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

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