The sense of death is most in apprehension.

Take but degree away, untune that string, and hark, what discord follows!

Past and to come, seems best; things present, worse.

O heaven! were man, But constant, he were perfect.

For in my youth I never did apply Hot and rebellious liquors in my blood.

I was a coward on instinct.

[Thine] face is not worth sunburning.