The Long Habit Of Living

Whosoever Enjoys Not This Life, I Count Him But An Apparition, Though He Wear About Him The Sensible Affections Of Flesh. In These Moral Acceptions, The Way To Be Immortal Is To Die Daily.

Be Deaf Unto The Suggestions Of Tale-bearers, Calumniators, Pick-thank Or Malevolent Detractors, Who, While Quiet Men Sleep, Sowing The Tares Of Discord And Division, Distract The Tranquillity Of Charity And All Friendly Society. These Are The Tongues That Set The World On Fire--cankerers Of Reputation, And, Like That Of Jonah's Gourd, Wither A Good Name In A Single Night.

There Is Musick, Even In The Beauty And The Silent Note Which Cupid Strikes, Far Sweeter Than The Sound Of An Instrument.

God Hath Varied The Inclinations Of Men According To The Variety Of Actions To Be Performed.

We Term Sleep A Death By Which We May Be Literally Said To Die Daily; In Fine, So Like Death, I Dare Not Trust It Without My Prayers.