The earth, that is nature's mother, is her tomb.
I'll be damned for never a king's son in Christendom.
To be direct and honest is not safe.
There's small choice in rotten apples.
The wheel is come full circle.
What is a man, if his chief good and market of his time be but to sleep and feed? a beast, no more. Sure he that made us with such large discourse, looking before and after, gave us not that capability and god-like reason to fust in us unused.