The heart is an astrologer that always divines the truth.

Our treasures trifles seem, and all our life is dreaming, and the dreams themselves are dreams.

Speak no evil of women; I tell thee the meanest of them deserves respect; for of women do we not all come?

If a pretty woman only knew how anger improved her beauty! Her complexion needs no other paint than indignation.

Dreams are rough copies of the waking soul Yet uncorrected of the higher will, So that men sometimes in their dreams confess An unsuspected, or forgotten, self; -Since Dreaming, Madness, Passion, are akin In missing each that salutory rein Of reason, and the grinding will of man.

A friar who asks alms for God's sake begs for two.

Tis not where we lie but whence we fell; the loss of Heaven's the greatest pain in Hell.