Hired mourners at a funeral say and do - A little more than they whose grief is true
Our years Glide silently away. No tears, No loving orisons repair The wrinkled cheek, the whitening hair That drop forgotten to the tomb.
Leave the rest to the gods.
When I caution you against becoming a miser, I do not therefore advise you to become a prodigal or a spendthrift.
If you are only an underling, don't dress too fine.
The same (hated) man will be loved after he's dead. How quickly we forget.