The Doubt Of Future Foes Exiles My

We Princes Are Set As It Were Upon Stages, In The Sight And View Of All The World. The Least Spot Is Soon Spied In Our Garments, A Blemish Quickly Noticed In Our Doings.

[on Thomas Seymour's Death:] This Day Died A Man Of Much Wit And Very Little Judgment.

When We Hang On To Resentments, We Poison Ourselves. As Compulsive Overeaters, We Cannot Afford Resentment, Since It Exacerbates Our Disease.

Monarchs Ought To Put To Death The Authors And Instigators Of War, As Their Sworn Enemies And As Dangers To Their States.

Fear Not, We Are Of The Nature Of The Lion, And Cannot Descend To The Destruction Of Mice And Such Small Beasts.