Our Lives Are But Our Marches To

If Men Wound You With Injuries, Meet Them With Patience; Hasty Words Rankle The Wound, Soft Language Dresses It, Forgiveness Cures It, And Oblivion Takes Away The Scar. It Is More Noble By Silence To Avoid An Injury Than By Argument To Overcome It.

Let No Man Fear To Die, We Love To Sleep All, And Death Is But The Sounder Sleep.

Of All The Paths [that] Lead To A Woman's Love Pity's The Straightest.

There's Nothing That Allays An Angry Mind So Soon As A Sweet Beauty.

Who Doubting Tyranny, And Fainting Under Fortune's False Lottery, Desperately Run To Death, For Dread Of Death; That Soul's Most Stout, That, Bearing All Mischance, Dares Last It Out.