A hand as fruitful as the land that feeds us; His dew falls everywhere.

Many strokes, though with a little axe, hew down and fell the hardest-timber'd oak.

Defer no time, delays have dangerous ends.

Heaven give you many, many merry days.

. . from this moment The very firstlings of my heart shall be The firstlings of my hand. And even now, To crown my thoughts with acts, be it thought and done.

O sir, you are old; nature in you stands on the very verge of her confine; you should be ruled and led by some discretion, that discerns your fate better than you yourself.

A man cannot make him laugh; but that's no marvel; he drinks no wine.... If I had a thousand sons, the first human principle I would teach them should be, to forswear thin potations and to addict themselves to sack.