A Wise Man Is Out Of The

But Man Is A Noble Animal, Splendid In Ashes, And Pompous In The Grave, Solemnizing Nativities And Deaths With Equal Lustre, Nor Omitting Ceremonies Of Bravery, In The Infamy Of His Nature. Life Is A Pure Flame, And We Live By An Invisible Sun Within Us.

We Term Sleep A Death, And Yet It Is Waking That Kills Us, And Destroys Those Spirits That Are The House Of Life.

A Man May Be In As Just Possession Of The Truth As Of A City, And Yet Be Forced To Surrender.

We Term Sleep A Death By Which We May Be Literally Said To Die Daily; In Fine, So Like Death, I Dare Not Trust It Without My Prayers.

There Is Something In Us That Can Be Without Us, And Will Be After Us, Though Indeed It Hath No History Of What It Was Before Us, And Cannot Tell How It Entered Into Us.