Men are but men; we did not make ourselves.
Beautiful as sweet, And young as beautiful, and soft as young, And gay as soft, and innocent as gay!
As night to stars, woe lustre gives to man.
A death-bed's a detector of the heart.
Fame is the shade of immortality, And in itself a shadow. Soon as caught, Contemn'd; it shrinks to nothing in the grasp.
All men think that all men are mortal but themselves.