Memory, of all the powers of the mind, is the most delicate and frail.
Silence in woman is like speech in man.
Minds that are great and free, should not on fortune pause: 'Tis crown enough to virtue still, her own applause.
A new disease? I know not, new or old, but it may well be called poor mortals plague for, like a pestilence, it doth infect the houses of the brain till not a thought, or motion, in the mind, be free from the black poison of suspect.
Let those that merely talk and never think, That live in the wild anarchy of drink
Well, I will scourge those apes, And to these courteous eyes oppose a mirror, As large as is the stage whereon we act; Where they shall see the time's deformity Anatomised in every nerve, and sinew, With constant courage, and contempt of fear.