Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust Like diamonds we are cut with our own dust
Cover her face; mine eyes dazzle. She died young.
A politician is the devil's quilted anvil; He fashions all sins on him, and the blows are never heard.
We are merely the stars tennis-balls, struck and bandied which way please them.
When I go to hell, I mean to carry a bribe: for look you, good gifts evermore make way for the worst persons.
In all our quest of greatness, like wanton boys, whose pastime is their care, we follow after bubbles, blown in the air.
Eagles commonly fly alone. They are crows, daws, and starlings that flock together.
Sorrow is held the eldest child of sin.
When a man's mind rides faster than his horse can gallop they quickly both tire.
Integrity of life is fame's best friend, which nobly, beyond death, shall crown in the end.
Though lust do masque in ne'er so strange disguise she's oft found witty, but is never wise.
Lay this unto your breast: Old friends, like old swords, still are trusted best.
For the subtlest folly proceeds from the subtlest wisdom.
That friend a great man's ruin strongly checks, who rails into his belief all his defects.
