For love reflects the thing beloved.

My strength is as the strength of ten, because my heart is pure.

Nor at all can tell Whether I mean this day to end myself, Or lend an ear to Plato where he says, That men like soldiers may not quit the post Allotted by the Gods.

Sweet were the days when I was all unknown, But when my name was lifted up, the storm Brake on the mountain and I cared not for it. Right well know I that fame is half disfame.

Better fifty years of Europe than a cycle of Cathay.

I know transplanted human worth will bloom to profit otherwhere.

A lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies.