Things done well, and with a care, exempt themselves from fear.
I have ventured, like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, this many summers in a sea of glory, but far beyond my depth. My high-blown pride at length broke under me.
We all are men in our own natures frail, and capable of our flesh; few are angels.
The force of his own merit makes his way.
Men’s evil manners live in brass; their virtues we write in water.
Know you not the fire that mounts the liquor till’t run o’er in seeming to augment it wastes it? Be advised. I say again there is no English soul more stronger to direct you than yourself, if with the sap of reason you would quench or but allay the fire of passion.
Heat not a furnace for your foe so hot that it do singe yourself.
He has strangled his language in his tears.
By that sin fell the angels.
All hoods make not monks.
Alas, I am a woman, friendless, hopeless!
A peace above all earthly dignities, a still and quiet conscience.