A violet in the youth of primy nature, Forward, not permanent--sweet, not lasting; The perfume and suppliance of a minute; No more.
The soul of this man is his clothes.
Most subject is the fattest soil to weeds.
Rich honesty dwells like a miser, Sir, in a poor house; as your pearl in your foul oyster.
Beauty lives with kindness.
The let-alone lies not in your good will.