There is a nick in Fortune's restless wheel For each man's good.
So our lives In acts exemplary, not only win Ourselves good names, but doth to others give Matter for virtuous deeds, by which we live.
I pray, what flowers are these? The pansy this, O, that's for lover's thoughts.
I will neither yield to the song of the siren nor the voice of the hyena, the tears of the crocodile nor the howling of the wolf.
Pure innovation is more gross than error.
Perfect happiness, by princes sought, Is not with birth born, nor exchequers bought.