Death lies on her like an untimely frost.
The soul of this man is his clothes.
How now, wit! Whither wander you?
Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.
Well, God's above all; and there be souls must be saved, and there be souls must not be saved.
Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them.