Death makes no conquest of this conqueror: For now he lives in fame, though not in life.
Men's evil manners live in brass; their virtues we write in water.
Put money in thy purse.
We are ready to try our fortunes to the last man.
Ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear, for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet--nay, sometime more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the overleather.
Night's candles have burned out, and jocund day stands tiptoe on the misty mountaintops." Hope tinged with melancholy - like life.