In our play we reveal what kind of people we are.

Ere land and sea and the all-covering sky Were made, in the whole world the countenance Of nature was the same, all one, well named Chaos, a raw and undivided mass, Naught but a lifeless bulk, with warring seeds Of ill-joined elements compressed together.

Where belief is painful we are slow to believe.

I am the poet of the poor, because I was poor when I loved; since I could not give gifts, I gave words.

We must improve our time; time goes with rapid foot.

There are a thousand forms of evil; there will be a thousand remedies.

An injury may prove a blessing.