An honest man you may form of windle-straws, but to make a rogue you must have grist.
Only through Beauty's morning-gate, dost thou penetrate the land of knowledge.
In a narrow circle the mind grows narrow. The more one expands, the larger their aims.
We, we live! ours are the hours, and the living have their claims.
You saw his weakness, and he will never forgive you.
Rigor pushed too far is sure to miss its aim, however good, as the bow snaps that is bent too stiffly.