The silence often of pure innocence persuades when speaking fails.

When holy and devout religious men are at their beads, 'tis hard to draw them thence; so sweet is zealous contemplation.

No, I will be the pattern of all patience; I will say nothing.

He's of the colour of the nutmeg. And of the heat of the ginger.... he is pure air and fire; and the dull elements of earth and water never appear in him, but only in patient stillness while his rider mounts him; he is indeed a horse, and all other jades you may call beasts.

Till all grace be in one woman, one woman shall not come in my grace.

How quickly nature falls into revolt When gold becomes her object! For this the foolish over-careful fathers Have broke their sleep with thoughts, their brains with care, Their bones with industry.

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all; And thus the native hue of resolution Is slicked o'er with the pale cast of thought