Age doth not rectify, but incurvate our natures, turning bad dispositions into worser habits.

For my part, I have ever believed, and do now know, that there are witches.

What then is the wisdom of the times called old? Is it the wisdom of gray hairs? No. It is the wisdom of the cradle.

He that unburied lies wants not his hearse, For unto him a tomb's the Universe.

Content may dwell in all stations. To be low but above contempt may be high enough to be happy.

I could be content that we might procreate like trees, without conjunction, or that we were any way to perpetuate the world without this trivial and vulgar way of coition; it is the foolishest act a wise man commits in all his life.

Let age, not envy, draw wrinkles on thy cheeks.