This is the bud of being, the dim dawn, The twilight of our day, the vestibule; Life's theatre as yet is shut, and death, Strong death, alone can heave the massy bar, This gross impediment of clay remove, And make us embryos of existence free.

Be wise with speed; a fool at forty is a fool indeed.

A prince indebted is a fortune made.

On every thorn, delightful wisdom grows, In every rill a sweet instruction flows.

When pain can't bless, heaven quits us in despair.

One eye on death, and one full fix'd on heaven.

What is revenge but courage to call in our honor's debts, and wisdom to convert others' self-love into our own protection?