All discourses but my own afflict me; they seem harsh, impertinent, and irksome
Many punishments sometimes, and in some cases, as much discredit a prince as many funerals a physician.
Hell itself must yield to industry.
Spread yourself upon his bosom publicly, whose heart you would eat in private.
I feel my griefs too, and there scarce is ground Upon my flesh t'inflict another wound. Yet dare I not complain, or wish for death With holy Paul; lest it be thought the breath Of discontent; or that these prayers be For weariness of life, not love of thee.
Books are faithful repositories, which may be awhile neglected or forgotten, but when they are opened again, will again impart their instruction.