Praise Is A Debt We Owe Unto

They Do Most By Books, Who Could Do Much Without Them, And He That Chiefly Owes Himself Unto Himself, Is The Substantial Man.

The Created World Is But A Small Parenthesis In Eternity.

Gold Once Out Of The Earth Is No More Due Unto It; What Was Unreasonably Committed To The Ground, Is Reasonably Resumed From It; Let Monuments And Rich Fabricks, Not Riches, Adorn Men's Ashes.

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

Be Thou What Thou Singly Art And Personate Only Thyself. Swim Smoothly In The Stream Of Thy Nature And Live But One Man.