They Do Most By Books, Who Could

Every Country Hath Its Machiavel.

The Created World Is But A Small Parenthesis In Eternity.

With What Shift And Pains We Come Into The World We Remember Not; But 'tis Commonly Found No Easy Matter To Get Out Of It.

Men That Look No Further Than Their Outsides, Think Health An Appurtenance Unto Life, And Quarrel With Their Constitutions For Being Sick; But I That Have Examined The Parts Of Man, And Know Upon What Tender Filaments That Fabric Hangs, Do Wonder That We Are Not Always So; And Considering The Thousand Doors That Lead To Death, Do Thank My God That We Can Die But Once.

I Envy No Man That Knows More Than Myself, But Pity Them That Know Less.