To Make An End Of

There Is Something In Us That Can Be Without Us, And Will Be After Us, Though Indeed It Hath No History Of What It Was Before Us, And Cannot Tell How It Entered Into Us.

But The Iniquity Of Oblivion Blindly Scattereth Her Poppy, And Deals With The Memory Of Men Without Distinction To Merit Of Perpetuity.

He That Unburied Lies Wants Not His Hearse, For Unto Him A Tomb's The Universe.

He Is Rich Who Hath Enough To Be Charitable.

I Believe The World Grows Near Its End, Yet Is Neither Old Nor Decayed, Nor Will Ever Perish Upon The Ruins Of Its Own Principles.