Death, the sable smoke where vanishes the flame

  • Death, the sable smoke where vanishes the flame.  – George Gordon, Lord Byron, Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage
  • God himself took a day to rest in, and a good man’s grave is his Sabbath.  – John Donne
  • The day which we fear as our last is but the birthday of eternity.  – Seneca
  • Years, following years, steal something every day;
    At last they steal us from ourselves away.  – Horace