Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lustLike diamonds we are cut with our own dust

What a strange creature is a laughing fool,As if a man were created to no useBut only to show his teeth.

Integrity of life is fame's best friend,Which nobly, beyond death, shall crown the end.

I know death hath ten thousand several doorsFor men to take their exits; and 'tis foundThey go on such strange geometrical hinges,You may open them both ways: any way, for heaven-sake

Vain the ambition of kings Who seek by trophies and dead things To leave a living name behind, And weave but nets to catch the wind.