And teach me how To name the bigger light, and how the less, That burn by day and night.

Faster than spring-time showers comes thought on thought.

When we our betters see bearing our woes, We scarcely think our miseries our foes.

When sorrows come, they come not single spies, but in battalions.

All that glisters is not gold; Often have you heard that told.

There is no vice so simple but assumes some mark of virtue on his outward parts.

What is the city but the people?