Day's lustrous eyes grow heavy in sweet death.
Lose not yourself in a far off time, seize the moment that is thine.
The world's history is constant, like the laws of nature, and simple, like the souls of men. The same conditions continually produce the same results.
Gray hairs are death's blossoms.
Only the soldier is a free man, because he can look death in the face.
Revenge is barren of itself: it is the dreadful food it feeds on; its delight is murder, and its end is despair.