I Believe The World Grows Near Its

Gravestones Tell Truth Scarce Forty Years.

The Severe Schools Shall Never Laugh Me Out Of The Philosophy Of Hermes, That This Visible World Is But A Picture Of The Invisible, Wherein As In A Portrait, Things Are Not Truly, But In Equivocal Shapes, And As They Counterfeit Some Real Substance In That Invisible Fabric.

The Noblest Digladiation Is In The Theatre Of Ourselves.

But The Iniquity Of Oblivion Blindly Scattereth Her Poppy, And Deals With The Memory Of Men Without Distinction To Merit Of Perpetuity.

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