Death hath so many doors to let out life.
'Tis virtue, and not birth that makes us noble: Great actions speak great minds, and such should govern.
Drink today, and drown all sorrow; you shall perhaps not do tomorrow.
Our acts our angels are, for good or ill, our fatal shadows that walk by us still.
Speak boldly and speak truly, shame the devil.
Care-charming Sleep, thou easer of all woes, brother to Death, sweetly thyself dispose.