If we must die, O let us nobly die,
So that our precious blood may not be shed
In vain; then even the monsters we defy
Shall be constrained to honor us though dead!

Win the ship a name of glory, win the men a death of grace

I shall gain glory or die.

Would you rather die with honor intact or live with it besmirched?

The nobly born must nobly meet his fate.

When he endures nothing but endless miseries — What pleasure is there in living the day after day,
Edging slowly back and forth toward death?
Anyone who warms their heart with the glow
Of flickering hope is worth nothing at all.
The noble man should either live with honor or die with honor. That's all there is to be said.

I am afeard there are few die well that die in battle, for how can they charitably dispose of anything when blood is their argument?

On valour's side the odds of combat lie,
The brave live glorious, or lamented die;
The wretch who trembles in the field of fame,
Meets death, and worse than death, eternal shame.

Death with honor is better than a life of degradation.

It's a matter of honor, death. It's your white page, do you see? Or your shame. Either you're worthy of it or you ain't. To accept it, to face it with honor and respect and goodwill, to earn it, that is to be brave.

Certain kinds of honor could not be lost without demanding that one consecrate oneself thereafter — no matter how unsuited and unprepared — to a life of revenge. I