When men once reach their autumn, sickly joys fall off apace, as yellow leaves from trees
The melancholy ghosts of dead renown, Whispering faint echoes of the world's applause.
Where boasting ends, there dignity begins.
The clouds may drop down titles and estates, and wealth may seek us, but wisdom must be sought.
Whose yesterdays look backwards with a smile.
Tomorrow is the day when idlers work, and fools reform and mortal men lay hold on heaven.