It Is We That Are

Sleep Is A Death, O Make Me Try By Sleeping, What It Is To Die, And As Gently Lay My Head On My Grave, As Now My Bed.

I Envy No Man That Knows More Than Myself, But Pity Them That Know Less.

Were The Happiness Of The Next World Is As Closely Apprehended As The Felicities Of This, It Were A Martyrdom To Live.

The Severe Schools Shall Never Laugh Me Out Of The Philosophy Of Hermes, That This Visible World Is But A Picture Of The Invisible, Wherein As In A Portrait, Things Are Not Truly, But In Equivocal Shapes, And As They Counterfeit Some Real Substance In That Invisible Fabric.

They That Endeavour To Abolish Vice Destroy Also Virtue, For Contraries, Though They Destroy One Another, Are Yet The Life Of One Another.