O Death the Healer, scorn thou not, I pray, To come to me: of cureless ills thou art The one physician. Pain lays not its touch Upon a corpse.

• There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief.
• Bronze is the mirror of the form wine, of the heart.
• Learning is ever in the freshness of its youth, even for the old.
• The future you shall know when it has come before then forget it.
• Sweet is a grief well ended.
• Exiles feed on hope.
• It is not the oath that makes us believe the man, but the man the oath.
• Death is better, a milder fate than tyranny.
• It is a profitable thing, if one is wise, to seem foolish.
• His resolve is not to seem, but to be, the best.