Man is most happy, when his own actions are arguments and examples of his virtue

Sorrow is held the eldest child of sin

With such a pity men preserve alive Pheasants and quails, when they are no fat enough to be eaten

How tedious is a guilty conscience!

In all our quest of greatness, like wanton boys, whose pastime is their care, we follow after bubbles, blown in the air

Integrity of life is fame's best friend, which nobly, beyond death, shall crown in the end.

Is not old wine wholesomest, old pippins toothsomest, old wood burns brightest, old linen wash whitest? Old soldiers, sweetheart, are surest, and old lovers are soundes

Life's the greates torture sould feel in hell, In hell: that they must live, and cannot die

Whether we fall by ambition, blood, or lust, like diamonds we are cut with our own dust.