The Truest End Of Life Is To

Love Grows, Lust Wastes By Enjoyment.

Death Is But Crossing The World, As Friends Do The Seas; They Live In One Another Still.

Haste Makes Work Which Caution Prevents.

Above All Things Endeavor To Breed Them Up The Love Of Virtue, And That Holy Plain Way Of It Which We Have Lived In, That The World In No Part Of It Get Into My Family. I Had Rather They We're Homely Than Finely Bred As To Outward Behavior; Yet I Love Sweetness Mixed With Gravity, And Cheerfulness Tempered With Sobriety.

Next To God, Thy Parents.