Wisely and slow. They stumble that run fast.
Though patience be a tired mare, yet she will plod.
Patience is sottish, and impatience does become a dog that’s mad.
Patience is pale cold cowardice in noble breasts.
Patch grief with proverbs; make misfortune drunk with candle-wasters; bring him yet to me, and I of him will gather patience.
No, I will be the pattern of all patience; I will say nothing.
How poor are they that have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees?
Come, civil night, thou sober-suited matron all in black.
