God keepe me from foure houses, an Vsurers, a Taverne, a Spittle, and a Prison.
It's an ill councell that hath no escape.
Folly growes without watering.
Science stands, a too competant servant, behind her wrangling underbred masters, holding out resources, devices, and remedies they are too stupid to use. ... And on its material side, a modern Utopia must needs present these gifts as taken.
Souldiers in peace are like chimneys in summer.
They favour learning whose actions are worthy of a learned pen.