A Man Is Never Alone,

A Little Water Makes A Sea, A Small Puff Of Wind A Tempest.

Let The Fruition Of Things Bless The Possession Of Them, And Take No Satisfaction In Dying But Living Rich.

The Vices We Scoff At In Others Laugh At Us Within Ourselves.

But Man Is A Noble Animal, Splendid In Ashes, And Pompous In The Grave, Solemnizing Nativities And Deaths With Equal Lustre, Nor Omitting Ceremonies Of Bravery, In The Infamy Of His Nature. Life Is A Pure Flame, And We Live By An Invisible Sun Within Us.

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.