Men have died of joy and almost forbidden their friends to weep for them when they have seen them die laughing.
Even that tyrant Dionysius (I think the same that suffered so much after) could not die of the sorrow of that high fall from a king to a wretched private man. He died of so poor a joy as to be declared by the people at a theatre that he was a good poet.
We say often that a man may live of a little, but alas of how much less may a man die?
And therefore the more assistants the better. Who comes to court on the day of a hearing, in a case of any importance, with but one advocate?
In our funerals we ourselves have no interest, cannot advise, we cannot direct.
Some nations (the Egyptians in particular) built themselves better tombs than houses because they were to dwell longer in them. Yet the greatest man of style whom we have had, William the Conqueror, was left as soon as his soul left him not only without anyone at his graveside but without a grave.
Who will keep us then we know not.
As long as we can let us admit as much help as we can.
Another and another physician is not another and another symptom of death but another and another protector of life.
They do not so much feed our imagination with apprehension of danger as our understanding with comfort. Let not one bring learning, another diligence, another religion but everyone bring all and, as many ingredients enter into a receipt, so may many men make the receipt.
[continued]
