Our Poets make us laugh at Tragœdy, And with their Comoedies they make us cry.

She that would raise a noble love must find Ways to beget a passion for her mind; She must be that which she to the world would seem, For all true love is grounded on esteem: Plainness and truth gain more a generous heart Than all the crooked subtleties of art.

A mans fame and hayre grow most after death, and are both equally uselesse.

O! what a prodigal have I been of that most valuable of all possessions Time!

We recognised that just putting more flights and more passengers into the skies over southeast England wasn't worth the environmental costs we-re paying.

I drink, I huff, I strut, look big and stare; And all this I can do, because I dare.

Kisses are but like sands of gold and silver, found upon the ground which are not worth much themselves but as they promise a mine near too be dig'd.