Art Is The Perfection Of

Now With My Friend I Desire Not To Share Or Participate, But To Engross His Sorrows, That, By Making Them Mine Own, I May More Easily Discuss Them; For In Mine Own Reason, And Within Myself, I Can Command That Which I Cannot Entreat Without Myself, And Within The Circle Of Another.

To Call Ourselves A Microcosme, Or Little World, I Thought It Onely A Pleasant Trope Of Rhetorick, Till My Neare Judgement And Second Thoughts Told Me There Was A Reall Truth Therein: For First Wee Are A Rude Masse, And In The Ranke Of Creatures, Which Only Are, And Have A Dull Kinde Of Being Not Yet Priviledged With Life, Or Preferred To Sense Or Reason; Next We Live The Life Of Plants, The Life Of Animals, The Life Of Men, And At Last The Life Of Spirits, Running On In One Mysterious Nature Those Five Kinds Of Existence, Which Comprehend The Creatures Not Onely Of World, But Of The Universe.

Sleep Is Death's Younger Brother, And So Like Him, That I Never Dare Trust Him Without My Prayers.

Obstinacy In A Bad Cause Is But Constancy In A Good.

Rich With The Spoils Of Nature.