It is meant that noble minds keep ever with their likes; for who so firm that cannot be seduced.

Crack'd in pieces by malignant Death.

To beguile the time, look like the time. Bear welcome in your eye, your hand, your tongue.

Thy wish was father, Harry, to that thought.

Speak me fair in death.

Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends.

Let's talk of graves, of worms, and epitaphs; Make dust our paper, and with rainy eyes Write sorrow on the bosom of the earth.... [W]hat can we bequeath, Save our deposed bodies to the ground?... [N]othing can we call our own, but death... [L]et us sit upon the ground, And tell sad stories of the death of kings: - How some have been depos'd, some slain in war; Some haunted by the ghosts they have depos'd.