A Quote by Horace

Pale death approaches with equal step, and knocks indiscriminately at the door of teh cottage, and the portals of the palace. — © Horace
Pale death approaches with equal step, and knocks indiscriminately at the door of teh cottage, and the portals of the palace.
With equal pace, impartial Fate Knocks at the palace, as the cottage gate.
Pale death, with impartial step, knocks at the hut of the poor and the towers of kings.
Pale death, with impartial step, knocks at the hut of the poor and the towers of kings. [Lat., Pallida mors aequo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas Regumque turres.]
Pale death with an impartial foot knocks at the hovels of the poor and the palaces of king.
Pale death knocks with impartial foot at poor men's hovels and king's palaces.
When Arsenal knocks on any door, it's difficult to say no. When it knocks on my door, this is my house and it makes it very difficult.
Death knocks at your door, and before you can tell him to come in, he is in the house with you.
When Life knocks at the door no one can wait, When Death makes his arrest we have to go.
When death comes…. I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering: what it’s going to be like, that cottage of darkness? And therefore I look upon everything as a brotherhood and a sisterhood, and I look upon time as no more than an idea, and I consider eternity as another possibility, and I think of each life as a flower, as common as a field daisy, and as singular, and each name a comfortable music in the mouth, tending, as all music does, toward silence, and each body as a lion of courage, and something precious to the earth. [from the poem "When Death Comes"]
I saw pale kings and princes too, Pale warriors, death-pale were they all; They cried- "La Belle Dame sans Merci Hath thee in thrall!
The palace is not safe when the cottage is not happy.
For serenity, always prefer the cottage to the palace!
A cottage will hold as much happiness as would stock a palace.
Death is not as terrible as you think. It comes to you as a healer. Sleep is nothing but a counterfeit death. What happens in death we can picture in sleep. All our sufferings vanish in sleep. When death comes, all our mortal tortures cease; they cannot go beyond the portals of death.
Death is not rare, alas! nor burials few, And soon the grassy coverlet of God Spreads equal green above their ashes pale.
Old age is the lubricant of belief. When death knocks at the door, skepticism flies out the window. A serious cardiovascular fright and a person will even believe in Little Red Riding Hood.
This site uses cookies to ensure you get the best experience. More info...
Got it!