Life and Existence

Men must endure Their going hence, even as their coming hither: Ripeness is all.

Upon such sacrifices, my Cordelia, The gods themselves throw incense.

I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourscore and upward, not an hour more or less; And, to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind.

I am a very foolish fond old man, Fourscore and upward, not an hour more or less; And, to deal plainly, I fear I am not in my perfect mind.

When we are born, we cry that we are come To this great stage of fools.

When we are born, we cry that we are come To this great stage of fools.

It is the stars, The stars above us, govern our conditions.

She that herself will sliver and disbranch From her material sap, perforce must wither And come to deadly use.

As flies to wanton boys, are we to the gods; They kill us for their sport.

The prince of darkness is a gentleman. 46

The art of our necessities is strange, That can make vile things precious.

A poor, infirm, weak, and despis’d old man.

Nature in you stands on the very verge Of her confine.

Fortune, good night, smile once more; turn thy wheel!

A good man’s fortune may grow out at heels.

A good man’s fortune may grow out at heels.

Striving to better, oft we mar what’s well.

Who in the lusty stealth of nature take More composition and fierce quality Than doth, within a dull, stale, tired bed, Go to the creating a whole tribe of fops.

Here is my journey’s end, here is my butt, And very sea-mark of my utmost sail.

Curse his better angel from his side, And fall to reprobation.

Put out the light, and then put out the light: If I quench thee, thou flaming minister, I can again thy former light restore, Should I repent me; but once put out thy light, Thou cunning’st pattern of excelling nature, I know not where is that Promethean heat That can thy light relume.

This is the night That either makes me or fordoes me quite.

It makes us, or it mars us.

I am declin’d Into the vale of years.