A fretful temper will divide the closest knot that may be tied, by ceaseless sharp corrosion; a temper passionate and fierce may suddenly your joys disperse at one immense explosion.

A fool must now and then be right, by chance

War's a game, which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at.

Who loves a garden loves a greenhouse too.

How sweet, how passing sweet, is solitude! But grant me still a friend in my retreat, whom I may whisper, solitude is sweet.

Satan trembles when he sees the weakest saint upon their knees.

Still ending, and beginning still.