Death is delightful. Death is dawn, The waking from a weary night Of fevers unto truth and light.

Blessed are they who have nothing to say and who cannot be persuaded to say it.

Let us be of good cheer however remembering that the misfortunes hardest to bear are those which never come.

Nature they say doth dote And cannot make a man Save on some worn-out plan Repeating us by rote.