Temptation: the fiend at my elbow.
No reckoning made, but sent to my account with all my imperfections on my head.
Come the three corners of the world in arms, and we shall shock them.
He that will have a cake out of the wheat must tarry the grinding.
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.
When workmen strive to do better than well, they do confound their skill in covetousness.