Our Body Is A Well-set Clock, Which

[w]e All Lie Down In Our Bed Of Earth As Sure To Wake As Ever We Can Be To Shut Our Eyes.

Those Who Give Not Till They Die Show That They Would Not Then If They Could Keep It Any Longer.

There Is No Word Or Action But May Be Taken With Two Hands,--either With The Right Hand Of Charitable Construction, Or The Sinister Interpretation Of Malice And Suspicion; And All Things Do Succeed As They Are Taken. To Construe An Evil, Action Well Is But A Pleasing And Profitable Deceit To Myself; But To Misconstrue A Good Thing Is A Treble Wrong,--to Myself, The Action, And The Author.

As The Most Generous Vine, If It Is Not Pruned, Runs Out Into Many Superfluous Stems, And Grows At Last Weak And Fruitless; So Dote The Best Man, If He Be Not Cut Short Of His Desires And Pruned With Afflictions. If It Be Painful To Bleed, It Is Worse To Wither. Let Me Be Pruned, That I May Grow, Rather Than Be Cut Up To Burn.

That Which The French Proverb Hath Of Sickness Is True Of All Evils, That They Come On Horseback, And Go Away On Foot; We Have Often Seen A Sudden Fall Or One Meal's Surfeit Hath Stuck By Many To Their Graves; Whereas Pleasures Come Like Oxen, Slow, And Heavily, And Go Away Like Post-horses, Upon The Spur.