'Tis better to be vile than vile esteemed, When not to be, receives reproach of being, And the just pleasure lost, which is so deemed, Not by our feeling, but by others' seeing.

With caution judge of probability. Things deemed unlikely, e'en impossible, experience oft hath proved to be true.

They are in the very wrath of love, and they will go together. Clubs cannot part them

Every thing that grows / Holds in perfection but a little moment.

How art thou out of breath when thou hast breath To say to me that thou art out of breath?

All pity choked with custom of fell deeds.

Modest doubt is called the beacon of the wise.