There Is No Book So

Until Death It Is All Life.

But My Thoughts Ran A Wool-gathering; And I Did Like The Countryman, Who Looked For His Ass While He Was Mounted On His Back.

I Would Have Nobody To Control Me; I Would Be Absolute: And Who But I? Now, He That Is Absolute Can Do What He Likes; He That Can Do What He Likes Can Take His Pleasure; He That Can Take His Pleasure Can Be Content; And He That Can Be Content Has No More To Desire. So The Matter 's Over; And Come What Will Come, I Am Satisfied.

The Beauty Of Some Women Has Days And Seasons, Depending Upon Accidents Which Diminish Or Increase It; Nay, The Very Passions Of The Mind Naturally Improve Or Impair It, And Very Often Utterly Destroy It.

Sleep Is The Best Cure For Waking Troubles.