Men may live fools, but fools they cannot die.

Polite diseases make some idiots vain, Which, if unfortunately well, they feign.

We wish our names eternally to live; Wild dream! which ne'er had haunted human thought, Had not our natures been eternal too.

Youth is not rich in time; it may be poor; Part with it as with money, sparing; pay No moment but in purchase of its worth, And what it's worth, ask death-beds; they can tell.

The chamber where the good man meets his fate Is privileg'd beyond the common walk Of virtuous life, quite in the verge of heaven.

Who gives an empire, by the gift defeats All end of giving; and procures contempt Instead of gratitude.

Be wise to-day; 't is madness to defer.