Virtue is the fount whence honour springs.
Till swollen with cunning, of a self-conceit, His waxen wings did mount above his reach, And, melting, Heavens conspir'd his overthrow.
Excess of wealth is cause of covetousness.
... when all the world dissolves, And every creature shall be purified, All places shall be hell that are not heaven.
Ah fair Zenocrate, divine Zenocrate, Fair is too foul an epithet for thee.
Nothing violent, oft have I heard tell, can be permanent.