Time Is The Author Of Authors.

There Is In Man's Nature A Secret Inclination And Motion Towards Love Of Others, Which, If It Be Not Spent Upon Some One Or A Few, Doth Naturally Spread Itself Towards Many, And Maketh Men Become Humane And Charitable, As It Is Seen Sometimes In Friars. Nuptial Love Maketh Mankind, Friendly Love Perfecteth It, But Wanton Love Corrupteth And Embaseth It.

Nevertheless If Any Skillful Servant Of Nature Shall Bring Force To Bear On Matter, And Shall Vex It And Drive It To Extremities As If With The Purpose Of Reducing It To Nothing, Then Will Matter (since Annihilation Or True Destruction Is Not Possible Except By The Omnipotence Of God) Finding Itself In These Straits, Turn And Transform Itself Into Strange Shapes, Passing From One Change To Another Till It Has Gone Through The Whole Circle And Finished The Period.

When A Bee Stings, She Dies. She Cannot Sting And Live. When Men Sting, Their Better Selves Die. Every Sting Kills A Better Instinct. Men Must Not Turn Bees And Kill Themselves In Stinging Others.

It Is Natural To Die As To Be Born.

Parents Who Wish To Train Up Their Children In The Way They Should Go Must Go In The Way In Which They Would Have Their Children Go.