Many strokes overthrow the tallest oaks.
The sun shineth upon the dunghill, and is not corrupted.
A Rose is sweeter in the budde than full blowne.
Time draweth wrinkles in a fair face, but addeth fresh colors to a fast friend, which neither heat, nor cold, nor misery, nor place, nor destiny, can alter or diminish
There can no great smoke arise, but there must be some fire.
Where the mind is past hope, the heart is past shame.