Our birth is nothing but our death begun; As tapers waste, that instant they take fire.

Not all the pride of beauty; Those eyes, that tell us what the sun is made of; Those lips, whose touch is to be bought with life; Those hills of driven snow, which seen are felt: All these possessed are nought, but as they are The proof, the substance of an inward passion, And the rich plunder of a taken heart.

Day buries day; month, month; and year the year: Our life is but a chain of many deaths.

Be wise today; 'tis madness to defer. Next day the fatal precedent will plead; thus on, til wisdom is pushed our of life.

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

Titles are marks of honest men, and wise; The fool or knave that wears a title lies.

A man of pleasure is a man of pains.