The Vices We Scoff At In Others

Life Itself Is But The Shadow Of Death, And Souls Departed But The Shadows Of The Living: All Things Fall Under This Name. The Sun Itself Is But The Dark Simulacrum, And The Light But The Shadow Of God.

Flattery Is A Juggler, And No Kin Unto Sincerity.

I Am In No Way Facetious, Nor Disposed For The Mirth And Galliardize Of Company, Yet In One Dream I Can Compose A Whole Comedy, Behold The Action, Apprehend The Jests, And Laugh Myself Awake At The Conceits Thereof.

Times Before You, When Even The Living Men Were Antiquities; When The Living Might Exceed The Dead, And To Depart This World, Could Not Be Properly Said, To Go Unto The Greater Number.

To Believe Only Possibilities Is Not Faith, But Mere Philosophy.