To Be Content With Death May Be

Do The Devils Lie? No; For Then Even Hell Could Not Subsist.

Miserable Men Commiserate Not Themselves; Bowelless Unto Others, And Merciless Unto Their Own Bowels.

I Could Be Content That We Might Procreate Like Trees, Without Conjunction, Or That We Were Any Way To Perpetuate The World Without This Trivial And Vulgar Way Of Coition; It Is The Foolishest Act A Wise Man Commits In All His Life.

Men Live By Intervals Of Reason Under The Sovereignty Of Humor And Passion.

Flattery Is A Juggler, And No Kin Unto Sincerity.