If thou art rich, thou art poor; for, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows, thou bearest thy heavy riches but a journey, and death unloads thee.

Fore God, you have here a goodly dwelling and a rich.

Faint heart never won fair maid.

God shall be my hope, my stay, my guide and lantern to my feet.

In the modesty of fearful duty, I read as much as from the rattling tongue of saucy and audacious eloquence.

Be not afraid of greatness.

Madness in great ones must not unwatched go.