Popular men, They must create strange monsters, and then quell them, To make their arts seem something.
True gladness doth not always speak; joy, bred and born but in the tongue, is weak.
O! How vain and vile a passion is this fear! What base uncomely things it makes men do.
Hell itself must yield to industry.
Ambition makes more trusty slaves than need
He who is taught only by himself has a fool for a master.