Thus hath the candle sing'd the moth. O these deliberate fools!

This goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory.

Some men never seem to grow old. Always active in thought, always ready to adopt new ideas, they are never chargeable with foggyism. Satisfied, yet ever dissatisfied, settled, yet ever unsettled, they always enjoy the best of what is, are the first to find the best of what will be.

Report of fashions in proud Italy Whose manners still our tardy-apish nation Limps after in base imitation

The third day comes a frost, a killing frost.

Come the three corners of the world in arms, and we shall shock them.

No man means evil but the devil, and we shall know him by his horns.