What fear has once made me will, I am bound still to will when without fear.
In plain truth, lying is an accursed vice. We are not men, nor have any other tie upon another, but by our word.
I want death to find me planting my cabbages, but careless of death, and still more of my unfinished garden.
I must use these great men's virtues as a cloak for my weakness.
No man is a hero to his own valet.
Fortune, seeing that she could not make fools wise, has made them lucky.