There is a history in all men's lives.

A jest's prosperity lies in the ear

Are you up to your destiny?

What man art thou that, thus bescreened in night, So stumblest on my counsel? *Who are you? Why do you hide in the darkness and listen to my private thoughts?*

To whom God will, there be the victory.

Why, who cries out on pride that can therein tax any private party? Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea till the weary very means do ebb?

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.