He that hath the steerage of my course, Direct my sail.

... And death unloads thee.

It easeth some, though none it ever cured, to think their dolour others have endured.

Time's the king of men; he's both their parent, and he is their grave, and gives them what he will, not what they crave.

The weariest and most loathed worldly life, that age, ache, penury and imprisonment can lay on nature is a paradise, to what we fear of death.

What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, looking before and after, gave us not that capability and god-like reason to fust in us unused.

Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds.