When Death puts out our Flame, the Snuff will tell,/ If we were Wax, or Tallow by the Smell./ At a great Pennyworth, pause a while.

'Tis better leave for an enemy at one's death, than beg of a friend in one's life

Nothing in life is certain except death and taxes

There will be sleeping enough in the grave

Life is rather a state of embryo, a preparation for life; a man is not completely born till he has passed through death

Our Constitution is in actual operation; everything appears to promise that it will last; but in this world nothing is certain but death and taxes