No retreat. No retreat. They must conquer or die who've no retreat.
Fair words cost nothing.
Why is the hearse with scutcheons blazon'd round, And with the nodding plume of ostrich crown'd? No; the dead know it not, nor profit gain; It only serves to prove the living vain.
The luxury of doing good surpasses every other personal enjoyment.
She who has never lov'd, has never liv'd.
So comes a reck'ning when the banquet's o'er, The dreadful reckn'ning, and men smile no more.