He Is Rich Who Hath Enough To

The Vices We Scoff At In Others Laugh At Us Within Ourselves.

Every Country Hath Its Machiavel.

We Term Sleep A Death By Which We May Be Literally Said To Die Daily; In Fine, So Like Death, I Dare Not Trust It Without My Prayers.

And Surely, He That Hath Taken The True Altitude Of Things, And Rightly Calculated The Degenerate State Of This Age, Is Not Like To Envy Those That Shall Live In The Next, Much Less Three Or Four Hundred Years Hence, When No Man Can Comfortably Imagine What Face This World Will Carry.

To Be Content With Death May Be Better Than To Desire It.