The love of heaven makes one heavenly.

An habitation giddy and unsure Hath he that buildeth on the vulgar heart.

There's no better sign of a brave mind than a hard hand.

His forward voice now is to speak well of his friend. His backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract.

Then was I as a tree whose boughs did bend with fruit; but in one night, a storm or robbery, call it what you will, shook down my mellow hangings, nay, my leaves, and left me bare to weather.

For we, which now behold these present days, Have eyes to wonder, but lack tongues to praise.

Conscience is a blushing, shamefaced spirit than mutinies in a man's bosom; it fills one full of obstacles.