Pity is for the living, envy is for the dead.
Death, the refuge, the solace, the best and kindliest and most prized friend and benefactor of the erring, the forsaken, the old and weary and broken of heart.
We are all compelled to take the same road; from the urn of death, shaken for all, sooner or later the lot must come forth.
[Lat., Omnes eodem cogimur; omnium
Versatur urna serius, ocius
Sors exitura.]
Nothing is dead: men feign themselves dead, and endure mock funerals and mournful obituaries, and there they stand looking out ofthe window, sound and well, in some new and strange disguise.
Bullfighting is the only art in which the artist is in danger of death and in which the degree of brilliance in the performance is left to the fighter's honor.