To be a well-favoured man is the gift of fortune; but to write and read comes by nature.
People’s good deeds we write in water. The evil deeds are etched in brass.
How poor are they that have have not patients.
This thing of darkness I acknowlege mine. There is nothing more confining than the prison we don't know we are in.
O, call back yesterday, bid time return
An arrant traitor as any is in the universal world, or in France, or in England.