Love reigns a very tyrant in my heart.

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

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

Ambition is a lust that is never quenched, but grows more inflamed and madder by enjoyment.

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.

Who's a prince or beggar in the grave?

Justice is lame as well as blind, amongst us.