William Shakespeare

This life, which had been the tomb of his virtue and of his honour, is but a walking shadow; a poor player, that struts and frets his hour upon the stage, and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothingThe robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief.

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I have come to regard November as the older, harder man's October. I appreciate the early darkness and cooler temperatures. It puts my mind in a...

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The main facts in human life are five: birth, food, sleep, love and death.

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Belief is the death of intelligence.

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Every parting is a form of death, as every reunion is a type of heaven.

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The sole equality on earth is death.

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Between our birth and death we may touch understanding, As a moth brushes a window with its wing.

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