Fear of death is worse than dying.
Without a home must the soldier go, a changeful wanderer, and can warm himself at no home-lit hearth.
Wine invents nothing; it only tattles.
Death is a mighty mediator. There all the flames of rage are extinguished, hatred is appeased, and angelic pity, like a weeping sister, bends with gentle and close embrace over the funeral urn.
Weep, for the light is dead.
The lamp of genius burns quicker than the lamp of life.