How much salt water thrown away in waste/ To season love, that of it doth not taste.

I have lived long enough. My way of life is to fall into the sere, the yellow leaf, and that which should accompany old age, as honor, love, obedience, troops of friends I must not look to have.

This thought is as a death.

There's no trust, No faith, no honesty in men; all perjured, All forsworn, all naught, all dissemblers.

Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.

Poor and content, is rich and rich enough; But riches, fineless, is as poor as winter, To him that ever fears he shall be poor.

On Rumor's tongue continual slanders ride.