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• I see them walking in an air of glory Whose light doth trample on my days,-- My days, which are at best but dull and hoary, Mere glimmering and decays.
  -- Henry Vaughan (1621-1695) -- They are all gone...
• Strange, because they are so frankly and hysterically insane -- like all dream
  a God who could make good children as easily as bad, yet preferred to make bad one...
• Dear, beauteous death, the jewel of the just! Shining nowhere but in the dark
  What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, Could man outlook that mark!...
• Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world Like a Colossus, and we petty men Walk under his huge legs and peep about To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
  Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings....
• We call some parts of our body "private", yet they're the ones we most enjoy saving.
• NOSE, n. The extreme outpost of the face. From the circumstance that great conquerors have great noses, Getius, whose writings antedate the age of humor, calls the nose the organ of quell.
  It has been observed that one's nose is never so happy as when thrust into the affairs of others, from which some physiologists have drawn the inference that the nose is devoid of the sense of smell....
• Were we as eloquent as angels, yet should we please some men and some women much more by listening than by talking.
  -- Colto...
• Dreams are the touchstones of our characters. -- Henry David Thoreau
• I can call spirts from the vasty deep. Why so can I, or so can any ma
  but will they come when you do call for them? - Shakespeare, king Henry IV, Part I...