'Tis said of love that it sometimes goes, sometimes flies; runs with one, walks gravely with another; turns a third into ice, and sets a fourth in a flame: it wounds one, another it kills: like lightning it begins and ends in the same moment: it makes that fort yield at night which it besieged but in the morning; for there is no force able to resist it.

Riches are able to solder up abundance of flaws.

It is better that a judge should lean on the side of compassion than severity.

Little said is soon amended.

What man can pretend to know the riddle of a woman's mind?

Blessed be he who invented sleep, a cloak that covers all a man's thoughts.

That's the nature of women, not to love when we love them, and to love when we love them not.