Cowards are scared with threatenings; boys are whipped into confession; but a steady mind acts of itself, ne'er asks the body counsel.

Base natures ever judge a thing above them, and hate a power they are too much obliged to.

No flattery, boy! an honest man cannot live by it; it is a little, sneaking art, which knaves use to cajole and soften fools withal.

Children blessings seem, but torments are.

Clocks will go as they are set, but man, irregular man, is never constant, never certain.

The worst thing an old man can be is a lover.

Shining through tears, like April suns in showers, that labor to overcome the cloud that loads em.