My thoughts, imprisoned in my secret woes, with flamy breaths do issue oft in sound.
The general goodness, which is nourished in noble hearts makes every one think that strength of virtue to be in another whereof they find assured foundation in themselves.
To be rhymed to death as is said to be done in Ireland.
Solitude, the sly enemy that doth separate a man from well-doing.
Remember that in all miseries lamenting becomes fools, and action, wise folk.
Men are almost always cruel in their neighbors' faults; and make others' overthrow the badge of their own ill-masked virtue.