It is strange how the memory of a man may float to posterity on what he would have himself regarded as the most trifling of his works.

Not marble nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme,
But you shall shine more bright in these contents
Than unswept stone, besmeared with sluttish time.
When wasteful war shall statues overturn
And broils roots out the work of masonry,
Nor mars his sword nor war's quick fire shall burn
The living record of your memory.
'Gainst death and all-oblivious enmity
Shall you pace forth; your praise shall still find room
Even in the eyes of all posterity
That wear this world out to the ending doom.
So, till judgement that yourself arise,
You in this, and dwell in lovers eyes.

The natural man has only two primal passions, to get and to beget

To die daily, after the manner of St. Paul, ensures the resurrection of a new man, who makes each day the epitome of life.

Posterity gives every man his true value.

What life half gives a man, posterity gives entirely.