Nothing 'gainst Times Scythe Can Make Defence.

Two Stars Keep Not Their Motion In One Sphere.

Silence Is The Perfectest Herault Of Joy. I Were But Little Happy If I Could Say How Much.

Read O'er This And After, This, And Then To Breakfast With What Appetite You Have.

In A False Quarrel There Is No True Valor.

My Thought, Whose Murder Yet Is But Fantastical, Shakes So My Single State Of Man That Function Is Smothered In Surmise, And Nothing Is But What Is Not.