To Me Avarice Seems Not So Much

Not To Be Content With Life Is The Unsatisfactory State Of Those Which Destroy Themselves; Who Being Afraid To Live, Run Blindly Upon Their Own Death, Which No Man Fears By Experience.

Half Our Days We Pass In The Shadow Of The Earth; And The Brother Of Death Exacteth A Third Part Of Our Lives.

A Man May Be In As Just Possession Of The Truth As Of A City, And Yet Be Forced To Surrender.

Let Him Have The Key Of Thy Heart, Who Hath The Lock Of His Own.

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