We are all the fools of time and terror: Days Steal on us and steal from us; yet we live, Loathing our life, and dreading still to die. - Lord Byron

Between two worlds life hovers like a star,
’Twixt night and morn, upon the horizon’s verge:
How little do we know that which we are!
How less what we may be! The eternal surge
Of time and tide rolls on, and bears afar
Our bubbles; as the old burst, new emerge,
Lash’d from the foam of ages; while the graves
Of Empires heave but like some passing waves.

There's naught, no doubt, so much the spirit calms as rum and true religion.

The poor dog, in life the firmest friend,
The first to welcome, foremost to defend.