“I shall not live ’till I see God; and when I have seen Him, I shall never die.”

What if this present were the world’s last night?

Only our love hath no decay; this, no tomorrow hath, nor yesterday, running it never runs from us away, but truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.

Thy face is mine eye, and mine is thine.

I am a little world made cunningly.

Festive alcohol sometimes leads to an excess of honesty.

Love, all alike, no season knows, nor clime, nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.

Keep us, Lord, so awake in the duties of our calling that we may sleep in thy peace and wake in thy glory.

Batter my heart, three-personed God, for you As yet but knock; breathe, shine, and seek to mend; That I may rise, and stand, o’erthrow me, and bend Your force to break, blow, burn, and make me new.

Love was as subtly caught, as a disease; But being got it is a treasure sweet, which to defend is harder than to get: And ought not be profaned on either part, for though ‘Tis got by chance, ‘Tis kept by art.

And what is so intricate, so entangling as death? Who ever got out of a winding sheet?

So in a voice, so in a shapeless flame, Angels affect us often.

Without outward declarations, who can conclude an inward love?

The rich have no more of the kingdom of heaven than they have purchased of the poor by their alms.

Full nakedness! All my joys are due to thee, as souls unbodied, bodies unclothed must be, to taste whole joys.

I sing the progress of a deathless soul.

Nothing but man of all envenomed things, doth work upon itself, with inborn stings.

You know what I always say about basketball whenever anybody tried to tell me the Knicks are gonna be good: They’re old. Old people don’t get healthy. They die.

The rose that once has bloomed forever dies.

I am not going to die, I’m going home like a shooting star.

We may rest assured that God would never have suffered any infants to be slain except those who were already damned and predestined for eternal death.

We all mourn in our own way. I mourn with a great steak.

Sleep and death, two twins of winged race, Of matchless swiftness, but of silent pace.

Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and-sans End!

To friends and eke to foes true kindness show; No kindly heart unkindly deeds will do; Harshness will alienate a bosom friend. And kindness reconcile a deadly foe.