Sleep Is A Death, O Make Me

The Service Of Love Is The Foolishest Act A Wise Man Commits In All His Life, Nor Is There Anything That Will More Deject His Cool'd Imagination, When He Shall Consider What An Odd And Unworthy Piece Of Folly He Hath Committed.

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

Think Not Silence The Wisdom Of Fools; But, If Rightly Timed, The Honor Of Wise Men, Who Have Not The Infirmity, But The Virtue Of Taciturnity.

Charity But How Shall We Expect Charity Towards Others, When We Are Uncharitable To Ourselves? Charity Begins At Home, Is The Voice Of The World; Yet Is Every Man His Greatest Enemy, And, As It Were, His Own Executioner.

Where I Cannot Satisfy My Reason, I Love To Humour My Fancy.