Who's a prince or beggar in the grave?
No praying, it spoils business.
Honest men are the soft easy cushions on which knaves repose and fatten.
Base natures ever judge a thing above them, and hate a power they are too much obliged to.
Could my griefs speak, the tale would have no end.
Clocks will go as they are set, but man, irregular man, is never constant, never certain.