Unnatural deeds do breed unnatural troubles.

Foul cankering rust the hidden treasure frets, but gold that's put to use more gold begets.

A beggar's book outworths a noble's blood.

Tis not the many oaths that make the truth; But the plain single vow, that is vow'd true.

Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass but my madness speaks.

The tongues of dying men enforce attention like deep harmony.

Come my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave-makers; they hold up Adam's profession.