Many-have Too Rashly Charged The Troops Of

Men Have Lost Their Reason In Nothing So Much As Their Religion, Wherein Stones And Clouts Make Martyrs.

Man Is A Noble Animal, Splendid In Ashes, And Pompous In The Grave.

What Then Is The Wisdom Of The Times Called Old? Is It The Wisdom Of Gray Hairs? No. It Is The Wisdom Of The Cradle.

Let Age, Not Envy, Draw Wrinkles On Thy Cheeks.

That Miracles Have Been, I Do Believe; That They May Yet Be Wrought By The Living, I Do Not Deny: But Have No Confidence In Those Which Are Fathered On The Dead.