Prosperity doth bewitch men, seeming clear; As seas do laugh, show white, when rocks are near.
There's nothing sooner dry than women's tears.
Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust, like diamonds we are cut with our own dust.
Life's the greates torture sould feel in hell, In hell: that they must live, and cannot die.
Is not old wine wholesomest, old pippins toothsomest, old wood burns brightest, old linen wash whitest? Old soldiers, sweetheart, are surest, and old lovers are soundest
Integrity of life is fame's best friend, which nobly, beyond death, shall crown in the end.
In all our quest of greatness, like wanton boys, whose pastime is their care, we follow after bubbles, blown in the air.
How tedious is a guilty conscience!
Men often are valued high, when they are most wretched.
With such a pity men preserve alive Pheasants and quails, when they are no fat enough to be eaten.
A politician is the devil's quilted anvil; He fashions all sins on him, and the blows are never heard.
Sorrow is held the eldest child of sin.
Man is most happy, when his own actions are arguments and examples of his virtue.
Heaven fashioned us of nothing; and we strive to bring ourselves to nothing.
Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle. She died young.