Reputation is an idle and most false imposition; oft got without merit, and lost without deserving.

Every man has a bag hanging before him, in which he puts his neighbour's faults, and another behind him in which he stows his own.

Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot that it do singe yourself.

Hereditary sloth instructs me.

Death makes no conquest of this conqueror: For now he lives in fame, though not in life.

My joy is death- Death, at whose name I oft have been afeard, Because I wish'd this world's eternity.

Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell. Though all things foul would wear the brows of grace, Yet Grace must still look so.