We are all sure of two things, at least; we shall suffer and we shall all die.
Teach erring man to spurn the rage of gain.
The company of fools may first make us smile, but in the end we always feel melancholy.
Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done, Shoulder'd his crutch, and shew'd how fields were won.
He makes a very handsome corpse and becomes his coffin prodigiously.
Silence gives consent.