Gravestones Tell Truth Scarce Forty Years.

Let Him Have The Key Of Thy Heart, Who Hath The Lock Of His Own.

To Believe Only Possibilities Is Not Faith, But Mere Philosophy.

Grave-stones Tell Truth Scarce Forty Years. Generations Pass While Families Last Not Three Oaks.

There Is Musick, Even In The Beauty And The Silent Note Which Cupid Strikes, Far Sweeter Than The Sound Of An Instrument.

Men That Look No Further Than Their Outsides, Think Health An Appurtenance Unto Life, And Quarrel With Their Constitutions For Being Sick; But I That Have Examined The Parts Of Man, And Know Upon What Tender Filaments That Fabric Hangs, Do Wonder That We Are Not Always So; And Considering The Thousand Doors That Lead To Death, Do Thank My God That We Can Die But Once.