Base Is The Slave That Pays.

They That Touch Pitch Will Be Defiled.

Love Does Not See With The Eyes, But With The Soul.

Love Yourself; And In That Love Not Unconsidered Leave Your Honor.

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.

Headstrong Liberty Is Lashed With Woe.