Is not old wine wholesomest, old pippins toothsomest, old wood burn brightest, old linen wash whitest? Old soldiers, sweethearts, are surest, and old lovers are soundest.

That realm is never long in quiet, where the ruler is a soldier.

A politician is the devil's quilted anvil; He fashions all sins on him, and the blows are never heard.

I am Duchess of Malfi still.

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.

For the subtlest folly proceeds from the subtlest wisdom.

Oh, yes, thy sins Do run before thee to fetch fire from hell, To light thee thither.