Thinking nurseth thinking.

Our poor eyes were so enriched as to behold, and our low hearts so exalted as to love, a maid who is such, that as the greatest thing the world can show is her beauty, so the least thing that may be praised in her is her beauty.

Ring out your bells! Let mourning show be spread! For Love is dead.

Men are almost always cruel in their neighbors' faults; and make others' overthrow the badge of their own ill-masked virtue.

Blasphemous words betray the vain foolishness of the speaker.

The heavens do not send good haps in handfuls; but let us pick out our good by little, and with care, from out much bad, that still our little world may know its king.

He travels safe and not unpleasantly who is guarded by poverty and guided by love.