Let those deplore their doom, Whose hope still grovels in this dark sojourn: But lofty souls, who look beyond the tomb, Can smile at Fate, and wonder how they mourn.

He either fears his fate too much, Or his deserts are small, That dares not put it to the touch, To gain or lose it all

I think the idea of fate has always been in people's heads. Are we fated to meet the one we marry? How will we die? These are questions that everyone's thought about.

There is no armor against fate.

The heart is its own Fate.

At the close of the day when the hamlet is still, and mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, when naught but the torrent is heard on the hill, and naught but the nightingale's song in the grove.