The devil is a gentleman.
Virtue itself scapes not calumnious strokes.
By my troth, I care not; a man can die but once; we owe God a death and let it go which way it will he that dies this year is quit for the next
Your tale, sir, would cure deafness.
But shall we wear these glories for a day? Or shall they last, and we rejoice in them?
Life... is a paradise to what we know of death.