Death, so called, is a thing which makes men weep, and yet a third of life is passed in sleep.
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- I have seen a thousand graves opened, and always perceived that whatever was gone, the teeth and hair remained of those who had died with them. Is not this odd? They go the very first things in youth and yet last the longest in the dust.
- For the sword outwears its sheath, and the soul wears out the breast. And the heart must pause to breathe, and love itself have rest.
- When one subtracts from life infancy (which is vegetation), sleep, eating and swilling, buttoning and unbuttoning — how much remains of downright existence? The summer of a dormouse.
- I have had, and may have still, a thousand friends, as they are called, in life, who are like one’s partners in the waltz of this world –not much remembered when the ball is over.
- What men call gallantry, and gods adultery, is much more common where the climate’s sultry.
- But words are things, and a small drop of ink, falling like dew, upon a thought, produces that which makes thousands, perhaps millions, think.