When we hang on to resentments, we poison ourselves. As compulsive overeaters, we cannot afford resentment, since it exacerbates our disease.

I do not choose that my grave should be dug while I am still alive.

[To Edward de Vere, Earl of Oxford, on his return from self-imposed exile, occasioned by the embarrassing flatulence he had experienced in the presence of the Queen:] My Lord, I had forgot the fart.

O Fortune, how thy restless, wavering state has fraught with cares my troubled wit!

It is a natural virtue incident to our sex to be pitiful of those that are afflicted.

I find that I sent wolves not shepherds to govern Ireland, for they have left me nothing but ashes and carcasses to reign over!

Those who appear the most sanctified are the worst