Present mirth hath present laughter. What's to come is still unsure. >>
Glory is like a circle in the water, which never ceaseth to enlarge it >>
The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together. >>
Each in his narrow cell for ever laid, the rude forefathers of the ham >>
It is not death that alarms me, but dying. >>
To die is landing on some distant shore. >>
The weariest and most loathed worldly life, that age, ache, penury and imprisonment can lay on nature is a paradise, to what we fear of death.