Not To Be Content With Life Is

Praise Is A Debt We Owe Unto The Virtue Of Others, And Due Unto Our Own From All Whom Malice Hath Not Made Mutes, Or Envy Struck Dumb.

There Is Nothing Strictly Immortal, But Immortality. Whatever Hath No Beginning May Be Confident Of No End.

I Would Not Live Over My Hours Past ... Not Unto Cicero's Ground Because I Have Lived Them Well, But For Fear I Should Live Them Worse.

Men That Look No Further Than Their Outsides, Think Health An Appurtenance Unto Life, And Quarrel With Their Constitutions For Being Sick; But I That Have Examined The Parts Of Man, And Know Upon What Tender Filaments That Fabric Hangs, Do Wonder That We Are Not Always So; And Considering The Thousand Doors That Lead To Death, Do Thank My God That We Can Die But Once.

Sleep Is Death's Younger Brother, And So Like Him, That I Never Dare Trust Him Without My Prayers.