“He that would have his virtue published, is not the servant of virtue, but glory.”

Poor worms, they hiss at me, whilst I at home Can be contented to applaud myself, . . . with joy To see how plump my bags are and my barns.

He threatens many that hath injured one.

Blueness doth express trueness.

Silence in woman is like speech in man.

Reader look, not on his picture but his book.

Well, I will scourge those apes, And to these courteous eyes oppose a mirror, As large as is the stage whereon we act; Where they shall see the time’s deformity Anatomised in every nerve, and sinew, With constant courage, and contempt of fear.

Where dost thou careless lie, Buried in ease and sloth? Knowledge that sleeps, doth die; And this security, It is the common moth, That eats on wits and arts, and oft destroys them both.

Rich apparel has strange virtues; it makes him that hath it without means esteemed for an excellent wit; he that enjoys it with means puts the world in remembrance of his means.

Language most shows a man, speak that I may see thee.

There is no doctrine will do good where nature is wanting.

Who will not judge him worthy to be robbed That sets his doors wide open to a thief, And shows the felon where his treasure lies?

Were Guilt is, Rage and Courage doth abound.

Cut Men’s throats with whisperings.

In small proportions we just beauties see; And in short measures, life may perfect be.

Very few men are wise by their own council, or learned by their own teaching. For he that was only taught by himself, had a fool for a master.

It is an art to have so much judgment as to apparel a lie well, to give it a good dressing.