Ambition, Like A Torrent, Never Looks Back.

I Feel My Griefs Too, And There Scarce Is Ground Upon My Flesh T'inflict Another Wound. Yet Dare I Not Complain, Or Wish For Death With Holy Paul; Lest It Be Thought The Breath Of Discontent; Or That These Prayers Be For Weariness Of Life, Not Love Of Thee.

As It Is A Great Point Of Art, When Our Matter Requires It, To Enlarge And Veer Out All Sail, So To Take It In And Contract It Is Of No Less Praise When The Argument Doth Ask It.

Whom The Disease Of Talking Still Once Posses-seth, He Can Never Hold His Peace.

Man And Wife Make One Fool.

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?