Direct Not Him Whose Way Himself Will

Light And Lust Are Deadly Enemies.

You Have Lost No Reputation At All, Unless You Repute Yourself Such A Loser.

But It Is A Melancholy Of Mine Own, Compounded Of Many Simples, Extracted From Many Objects, And Indeed The Sundry Contemplation Of My Travels, Which, By Often Rumination, Wraps Me In The Most Humorous Sadness.

Love That Well Which Thou Must Leave Ere Long.

O, Let My Books Be Then The Eloquence And Dumb Presagers Of My Speaking Breast, Who Plead For Love, And Look For Recompense, More Than That Tongue That More Hath More Expressed.