Honest men are the soft easy cushions on which knaves repose and fatten.
Clocks will go as they are set, but man, irregular man, is never constant, never certain.
Could my griefs speak, the tale would have no end.
Ambition is a lust that is never quenched, but grows more inflamed and madder by enjoyment.
Justice is lame as well as blind, amongst us.
The worst thing an old man can be is a lover.