I have ever thought so superstitiously of wit, that I fear I have committed idolatry against wisdom.

Whatsoever is in the heart of the sober man, is in the mouth of the drunkard.

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 the best wine doth make the sharpest vinegar, so the deepest love turns to the deadliest hate.

The sun shineth upon the dunghill, and is not corrupted.

Maydens, be they never so foolyshe, yet beeing fayre they are commonly fortunate.

In misery it is great comfort to have a companion.