All human things are subject to decay, And when fate summons, monarchs must obey.

'Tis Fate that flings the dice, And as she flings Of kings makes peasants, And of peasants kings.

All things are subject to decay and when fate summons, monarchs must obey.

Yet what are they, the learned and the great? Awhile of longer wonderment the theme! Who shall presume to prophesy their date, Where nought is certain save the uncertainty of fate? - Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher,

We start each day with a blank sheet of paper in front of us, and what we write on it is up to us.

Beauty, like ice, our footing does betray; Who can tread sure on the smooth, slippery way: Pleased with the surface, we glide swiftly on, And see the dangers that we cannot shun.