The Long Habit Of Living Indisposeth Us

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.

As For Those Wingy Mysteries In Divinity, And Airy Subtleties In Religion, Which Have Unhinged The Brains Of Better Heads, They Never Stretched The Pia Mater Of Mine; Methinks There Be Not Impossibilities Enough In Religion For An Active Faith.

All Things Are Artificial, For Nature Is The Art Of God.

For God Is Like A Skilfull Geometrician.

Life Itself Is But The Shadow Of Death, And Souls Departed But The Shadows Of The Living.