'Tis only when they spring to Heaven that angels reveal themselves to you.
'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls.
Truth never hurt the teller.
The devil, that old stager, who leads downward, perhaps, but fiddles all the way!
Mothers, wives and maids, These be the tools with which priests manage men.
When a man's busy, why leisure Strikes him as wonderful pleasure: 'Faith, and at leisure once is he? Straightway he wants to be busy.