Man's Conscience Is The Oracle Of God.

Death, So Called, Is A Thing Which Makes Men Weep, And Yet A Third Of Life Is Passed In Sleep.

A Feast Not Profuse But Elegant; More Of Salt [refinement] Than Of Expense.

But At Sixteen The Conscience Rarely Gnaws So Much, As When We Call Our Old Debts In At Sixty Years, And Draw The Accounts Of Evil, And Find A Deuced Balance With The Devil.

All Tragedies Are Finished By A Death, All Comedies Are Ended By A Marriage.

Venice Once Was Dear, The Pleasant Place Of All Festivity, The Revel Of The Earth, The Masque Of Italy.