Your highest female grace is silence.

The covetous man never has money. The prodigal will have none shortly.

Fortune, that favors fools.

The burnt child dreads the fire.

Popular men, They must create strange monsters, and then quell them, To make their arts seem something.

... the best pilots have need of mariners, besides sails, anchor and other tackle.

Come, my Celia, let us prove, While we can, the sports of love, Time will not be ours for ever, He, at length, our good will sever; Spend not then his gifts in vain: Suns that set may rise again; But if once we lose this light, 'Tis with us perpetual night. Why should we defer our joys? Fame and rumour are but toys.