This music crept by me upon the waters, Allaying both their fury and my passion With its sweet air: thence I have follow’d it.

My brain more busy than the labouring spider Weaves tedious snares to trap mine enemies.

The extreme parts of time extremely forms all causes to the purpose of his speed.

For many men that stumble at the threshold are well foretold that danger lurks within.

To climb steep hills requires a slow pace at first.

I, measuring his affections by my own, Which then most sought where most might not be found, Being one too many by my weary self, Pursued my humor not pursuing his, And gladly shunned who gladly fled from me.

Your date is better in your pie and your porridge than in your cheek.