With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.
Wisely and slow. They stumble that run fast.
Wise men ne’er sit and wail their loss but cheerly seek how to redress their harms.
Wisdom and goodness to the vile seem vile.
Why, all the souls that were were forfeit once; And He that might the vantage best have took, Found out the remedy.
Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?
Who is it that says most? which can say more Than this rich praise, that you alone are you?
Who ever loved that loved not at first sight?
Wherever sorrow is, relief would be. If you do sorrow at my grief in love, by giving love your sorrow and my grief were both extermined.
Where every something, being blent together, turns to a wild of nothing.
Where doth the world thrust forth a vanity – so it be new, there’s no respect how vile – that is not quickly buzzed into his ears?
When we mean to build, we first survey the plot, then draw the model. And when we see the figure of the house, then must we rate the cost of the erection.