Who then to frail mortality shall trust But limns the water, or but writes in dust.
The more a man drinketh of the world, the more it intoxicateth.
Base and crafty cowards are like the arrow that flieth in the dark.
I do not believe that any man fears to be dead, but only the stroke of death.
Many secrets of art and nature are thought by the unlearned to be magical.
Riches are for spending.