Woe be to him that reads but one book.
Thou that hast given so much to me give me one thing more, a grateful heart: not thankful when it pleaseth me, as if Thy blessings had spare days, but such a heart whose pulse may be Thy praise.
Your pot broken seemes better then my whole one.
To bee beloved is above all bargaines.
Death keeps no calendar.
Grasp not at much, for fear thou losest all.