Travelers must be content.

My crown is in my heart, not on my head; not decked with diamonds and Indian stones, nor to be seen: my crown is called content, a crown it is that seldom kings enjoy.

. . . it is impossible you should take true root but by the fair weather that you make yourself it is needful that you frame the season of your own harvest.

The wildest hath not such a heart as you. Run when you will, the story shall be changed: Apollo flies, and Daphne holds the chase; The dove pursues the griffin; the mild hind Makes speed to catch the tiger; bootless speed, When cowardice pursues and valour flies.

I have very poor and unhappy brains for drinking.

O, she misused me past the endurance of a block.

Tis but a base, ignoble mind That mounts no higher than a bird can soar.