Shee spins well that breedes her children.
Hee that will deceive the fox, must rise betimes.
Call me not an olive, till thou see me gathered.
It's a proud horse that will not carry his owne provender.
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.
Everyone puts his fault on the Times.