All of Creation’s a farce. Man was born as a joke. In his head his reason is buffeted Like wind-blown smoke. Life is a game. Everyone ridicules everyone else. But he who has the last laugh Laughs longest.

We will all laugh at gilded butterflies.

For a noble heart, the most precious gift becomes poor, when the giver stops loving.

O how wretched is that poor man that hangs on princes favors! There is betwixt that smile we would aspire to, that sweet aspect of princes, and their ruin, more pangs and fears than wars or women have, and when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, never to hope again.

It is a familiar beast to man, and signifies love.

Silence is the perfect herald of joy.

He receives comfort like cold porridge.