“Religion! O Diabole! Fie, I am asham’d, however that I seem, To think a word of such simple sound, Of such great matter should be made the ground.”

Where both deliberate, the love is slight: Who ever lov’d, that lov’d not at first sight?

That perfect bliss and sole felicity, the sweet fruition of an earthly crown.

There is no sin but ignorance.

All live to die, and rise to fall.

I count religion but a childish toy, and hold there is no sin but ignorance.

Our swords shall play the orators for us.

Love is not full of pity (as men say) But deaf and cruel, where he means to pray.

Excess of wealth is cause of covetousness.

Time doth run with calm and silent foot, Shortening my days and thread of vital life.

Lone women, like to empty houses, perish.

I’m armed with more than complete steel, – The justice of my quarrel.

Hell strives with grace for conquest in my breast. What shall I do to shun the snares of death?

Virginity, albeit some highly prize it, Compared with marriage, had you tried them both, Differs as much as wine and water doth.

It lies not in our power to love or hate, for will in us is overruled by fate.

If we say that we have no sin, We deceive ourselves, and there’s no truth in us. Why then belike we must sin, And so consequently die. Ay, we must die an everlasting death.

What are kings, when regiment is gone, but perfect shadows in a sunshine day?