“I have been at my book; and am now past the craggy paths of study, and come to the flowery plains of honour and reputation”

The covetous man never has money. The prodigal will have none shortly.

A thankful man owes a courtesy ever; the unthankful but when he needs it.

Success hath made me wanton.

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.