But dying is a pleasure / When living is a pain.

If by the people you understand the multitude, the hoi polloi, 'tis no matter what they think; they are sometimes in the right, sometimes in the wrong; their judgment is a mere lottery.

Deathless laurel is the victor's due.

Nor is the people's judgment always true: the most may err as grossly as the few.

Bold knaves thrive without one grain of sense, But good men starve for want of impudence.

And nobler is a limited command, Given by the love of all your native land, Than a successive title, long and dark, Drawn from the mouldy rolls of Noah's Ark.

The sooner you treat your son as a man, the sooner he will be one.