There is nothing serious in Mortality
No deeper wrinkles yet? Hath sorrow struck So many blows upon this face of mine And made no deeper wounds?
So we grew together like to a double cherry, seeming parted, but yet an union in partition, two lovely berries molded on one stem.
He lives in fame that died in virtue's cause.
Things done well and with a care, exempt themselves from fear.
The art of our necessities is strange That can make vile things precious.