Ever a glutton, at another's cost, But in whose kitchen dwells perpetual frost.
Swift was the race, but short the time to run.
Ill habits gather unseen degrees, as brooks make rivers, rivers run to seas.
Plots, true or false, are necessary things, To raise up commonwealths and ruin kings.
There is a pleasure in being mad, which none but madmen know.
The bravest men are subject most to chance.