The soul was never put in the body to stand still.

How many ills spring from adultery? First the supreme law that is violated, Nobility oft stain'd with bastardy, Inheritance of land falsely possessed, The husband scorn'd, wife sham'd, and babes unbless'd.

Vain the ambition of kings Who seek by trophies and dead things To leave a living name behind, And weave but nets to catch the wind.

Glories, like glow-worms, afar off shine bright, But looked to near, have neither heat nor light.

Gold that buys health can never be ill spent, Nor hours laid out in harmless merriment.

For the subtlest folly proceeds from the subtlest wisdom.

I am Duchess of Malfi still.