Prevention is the daughter of intelligence.

What is our life? A play of passion. Our mirth the music of division. Our mother's wombs the tyring houses be, Where we are drest for this short Comedy.

In a letter to a friend the thought is often unimportant, and the feeling, if it be only a desire to entertain him, every thing.

The bodies of men, munition, and money may justly be called the sinews of war.

A wandering minstrel I A thing of shreds and patches Of ballads, songs and snatches And dreamy lullaby!

I shall never be persuaded that God hath shut up all light of learning within the lantern of Aristotle's brain.

All histories do show, and wise politicians do hold it necessary that, for the well-governing of every Commonweal, it behoveth man to presuppose that all men are evil, and will declare themselves so to be when occasion is offered.