That in the captains but a choleric word Which in the soldier is flat blasphemy.

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell. Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet Grace must still look so.

For a noble heart, the most precious gift becomes poor, when the giver stops loving.

Vice repeated is like the wandering wind, blows dust in others' eyes to spread itself.

I am as vigilant as a cat to steal cream.

He shall spurn fate, scorn death, and bear His hopes 'bove wisdom, grace and fear: And you all know, security Is mortals' chiefest enemy.

It is not night when I do see your face.