Past and to come, seems best; things present, worse.
Who is it can read a woman?
All things that are, are with more spirit chased than enjoyed.
What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish: he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fishlike smell; a kind of not of the newest poor-John. A strange fish!
Nothing routs us but the villainy of our fears.
Violent fires soon burn out themselves, small showers last long, but sudden storms are short; he tires betimes that spurs too fast.