Diogenes Found More Rest In His Tub

The Birds Of The Air Die To Sustain Thee; The Beasts Of The Field Die To Nourish Thee; The Fishes Of The Sea Die To Feed Thee. Our Stomachs Are Their Common Sepulchre. Good God! With How Many Deaths Are Our Poor Lives Patched Up! How Full Of Death Is The Life Of Momentary Man!

Toyish Airs Please Trivial Ears.

To Bear Adversity With An Equal Mind Is Both The Sign And Glory Of A Brave Spirit.

Be Not Too Great A Niggard In The Commendations Of Him That Professes Thy Own Quality: If He Deserve Thy Praise, Thou Hast Discovered Thy Judgment; If Not, Thy Modesty: Honor Either Returns Or Reflects To The Giver.

The Grave Is Sooner Cloy'd Than Men's Desire.