Who Can Control His Fate?

If It Be True That Good Wine Needs No Bush, 'tis True That A Good Play Needs No Epilogue.

Conceit In Weakest Bodies Works The Strongest.

Prepare For Mirth, For Mirth Becomes A Feast.

To Fear The Worst Oft Cures The Worst.

His Words Are Bonds, His Oaths Are Oracles; His Love Sincere, His Thoughts Immaculate; His Tears Pure Messengers Sent From His Heart; His Heart As Far From Fraud, As Heaven From Earth