Hell itself must yield to industry.
God wisheth none should wreck on a strange shelf: To him man's dearer than to himself.
Ods me I marle what pleasure or felicity they have in taking their roguish tobacco. It is good for nothing but to choke a man, and fill him full of smoke and embers.
A good poet's made as well as born.
He that departs with his own honesty For Vulgar , doth it too dearly buy.
True gladness doth not always speak; joy, bred and born but in the tongue, is weak.