I Want Death To Find Me Planting

Human Wisdom Makes As Ill Use Of Her Talent When She Exercises It In Rescinding From The Number And Sweetness Of Those Pleasures That Are Naturally Our Due, As She Employs It Favorably And Well In Artificially Disguising And Tricking Out The Ills Of Life To Alleviate The Sense Of Them.

One Must Be A Little Foolish If One Does Not Want To Be Even More Stupid.

There Is Some Shadow Of Delight And Delicacy Which Smiles Upon And Flatters Us Even In The Very Lap Of Melancholy.

We Seek And Offer Ourselves To Be Gulled.

I Want Death To Find Me Planting My Cabbages, But Careless Of Death, And Still More Of My Unfinished Garden.