“All places are alike, and every earth is fit for burial.”

Honour is purchas’d by the deeds we do.

Live and die in Aristotle’s works.

Religion! O Diabole! Fie, I am asham’d, however that I seem, To think a word of such simple sound, Of such great matter should be made the ground.

Fools that will laugh on earth, most weep in hell.

Strike up the drum and march courageously.

All places shall be hell that are not heaven.

Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed In one self place, for where we are is hell, And where hell is there must we ever be.

Is it not passing brave to be a King and ride in triumph through Persepolis?

O soul, be changed into little waterdrops, / And fall into the ocean, ne’er be found!

Why should you love him whom the world hates so? Because he love me more than all the world.

Nothing violent, oft have I heard tell, can be permanent.

The griefs of private men are soon allayed, But not of kings.

It is a comfort to the miserable to have comrades in misfortune, but it is a poor comfort after all.

Religion hides many mischiefs from suspicion.

More childish valorous than manly wise.

Jigging veins of rhyming mother wits.

Observe that anyone who dies for his country is a fortunate man, but death takes what it wants, indiscriminately, in peace-time as well as in war. It is better to die with freedom than without it.

The death of one man is tragic, but the death of thousands is statistic.

Double chin, Fat Thighs. Will you think about these things before your last breath?

Life gave me lemons, tequila, salt, and a knife. Death, you call the shots.

Praying without fervency is like hunting with a dead dog.

This creature softened my heart of stone. She died and with her died my last warm feelings for humanity.

Sticks and stones break bones but words ferment like poison. A slow, painful death.

It is not only war that can stop war but men of goodwill, conscious of their mission can deal with such deadly enemy.