Live and die in Aristotle's works.

You must be proud, bold, pleasant, resolute, And now and then stab, as occasion serves.

Goodness is beauty in the best estate.

Above our life we love a steadfast friend.

Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit, His waxen wings did mount above his reach, And, melting, Heavens conspir'd his overthrow.

If we say that we have no sin, We deceive ourselves, and there's no truth in us. Why then belike we must sin, And so consequently die. Ay, we must die an everlasting death.

While money doesn't buy love, it puts you in a great bargaining position.