I Love To Lose Myself In A

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.

To Be Nameless In Worthy Deeds Exceeds An Infamous History.

Think It More Satisfactory To Live Richly Than Die Rich.

To Extend Our Memories By Monuments, Whose Death We Daily Pray For, And Whose Duration We Cannot Hope, Without Injury To Our Expectations In The Advent Of The Last Day, Were A Contradiction To Our Belief.

Nor Do They Speak Properly Who Say That Time Consumeth All Things; For Time Is Not Effective, Nor Are Bodies Destroyed By It.