We Term Sleep A Death By Which

Rich With The Spoils Of Nature.

I Am Not So Much Afraid Of Death, As Ashamed Thereof, 'tis The Very Disgrace And Ignominy Of Our Natures.

He Is Like To Be Mistaken Who Makes Choice Of A Covetous Man For A Friend, Or Relieth Upon The Reed Of Narrow And Poltroon Friendship. Pitiful Things Are Only To Be Found In The Cottages Of Such Breasts; But Bright Thoughts, Clear Deeds, Constancy, Fidelity, Bounty And Generous Honesty Are The Gems Of Noble Minds, Wherein (to Derogate From None) The True, Heroic English Gentleman Hath No Peer.

There Is No Royal Road Or Ready Way To Virtue.

Gardens Were Before Gardeners, And But Some Hours After The Earth.