Hope is the poor man's bread.
Happier are the hands compast with yron, then a heart with thoughts.
Was ever grief like mine?
Night is the mother of counsels.
A hatt is not made for one shower.
By all means use sometimes to be alone. Salute thyself: see what thy soul doth wear. Dare to look in thy chest; for 'Tis thine own: And tumble up and down what thou findst there. Who cannot rest till he good fellows find, he breaks up house, turns out of doors his mind.