Believe that each day that shines on you is your last.
Pale death knocks with impartial foot at poor men's hovels and king's palaces.
Lighten grief with hopes of a brighter morrow; Temper joy, in fear of a change of fortune.
When I struggle to be terse, I end by being obscure.
He can afford to be a fool.
Pry not into the affairs of others, and keep secret that which has been entrusted to you, though sorely tempted by wine and passion.