The Life Of The Dead

The Name Of Peace Is Sweet, The Thing Itself Is Most Salutary.

The Happiest End Of Life Is This: When The Mind And The Other Senses Being Unimpaired, The Same Nature Which Put It Together Takes Asunder Her Own Work.

Were Floods Of Tears To Be Unloosed In Tribute To My Grief, The Doves Of Noah Ne'er Had Roost Nor Found An Olive-leaf.

Of All Nature's Gifts To The Human Race, What Is Sweeter To A Man Than His Children?

Rashness Belongs To Youth; Prudence To Old Age.