Thou art an heyre to fayre lying, that is nothing, if thou be disinherited of learning, for better were it to thee to inherite righteousnesse then riches, and far more seemly were if for thee to haue thy Studie full of bookes, then thy pursse full of mony.

The bee that hath honey in her mouth hath a sting in her tail.

Many strokes overthrow the tallest oaks.

A Rose is sweeter in the budde than full blowne.

A heat full of coldness, a sweet full of bitterness, a pain full of pleasantness, which maketh thoughts have eyes and hearts ears, bred by desire, nursed by delight, weaned by jealousy, kill'd by dissembling, buried by ingratitude, and this is love.

As lyke as one pease is to another.

In arguing of the shadow, we forgo the substance.