I wont let a wife lead me to the altar. [I will not have a wife that shall be my master.]
You crystal break, for fear of breaking it: Careless and careful hands like faults commit.
The face that cannot smile is never fair.
If you want him to mourn, you had best leave him nothing.
While you remain at home your hair is at the hairdresser's; you take out your teeth at night and sleep tucked away in a hundred cosmetics boxes - even your face does not sleep with you.
He who writes distichs, wishes, I suppose, to please by brevity. But, tell me, of what avail is their brevity, when there is a whose book full of them?