“All places are alike, and every earth is fit for burial.”

Love me little, love me long.

Now I will show myself to have more of the serpent than the dove; That is–more knave than fool.

Above our life we love a steadfast friend.

Unhappy spirits that fell with Lucifer, Conspired against our God with Lucifer, And are for ever damned with Lucifer.

All women are ambitious naturally.

You stars that reigned at my nativity, whose influence hath allotted death and hell.

My men like satyrs grazing on the lawns, / Shall with their goat-feet dance an antic hay.

Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit, His waxen wings did mount above his reach, And, melting, Heavens conspir’d his overthrow.

Come live with me and be my love, And we will all the pleasures prove, That valleys, groves, hills, and fields, Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike

Things that are not at all, are never lost.

Honour is purchas’d by the deeds we do.

Live and die in Aristotle’s works.

Religion! O Diabole! Fie, I am asham’d, however that I seem, To think a word of such simple sound, Of such great matter should be made the ground.

Fools that will laugh on earth, most weep in hell.

Strike up the drum and march courageously.

Sometimes even in pain we smile to the world until we think we’re dying.

One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

How surely are the dead beyond death. Death is what the living carry with them. A state of dread, like some uncanny foretaste of a bitter memory. But the dead do not remember and nothingness is not a curse. Far from it.

The broken worlds we hide inside; that’s how we start to die!

Life is a long preparation for something that never happens.

I want nothing to do with politicians. Their hearts wither away, and die out of their bodies. Their consciences are turned to india-rubber, or to some substance as black as that, and which will stretch as much.

Most days missing her is my only choice between death and dying.

Yes, as my swift days near their goal, ’tis all that I implore: In life and death a chainless soul, with courage to endure.