Death, the dry pedant, spares neither the rose nor the thistle, nor does
he forget the solitary blade of grass in the distant waste. He destroys
thoroughly and unceasingly. Everywhere we may see how he crushes to dust
plants and beasts, men and their works. Even the Egyptian pyramids, that
would seem to defy him, are trophies of his power,--monuments of decay,
graves of primeval kings.--_Heinrich Heine._
There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, but has one vacant
chair!--_Longfellow._
And though mine arm should conquer twenty worlds, there's a lean fellow
beats all conquerors.--_Thomas Dekker._