The corne hides it self in the snow, as an old man in furrs.
A flatterers throat is an open Sepulcher.
The Wolfe knowes, what the ill beast thinkes.
Between the businesse of life and the day of death, a space ought to be interposed.
The noise is greater then the nuts.
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.