Custom Is The Most Certain Mistress Of

Where Dost Thou Careless Lie, Buried In Ease And Sloth? Knowledge That Sleeps, Doth Die; And This Security, It Is The Common Moth, That Eats On Wits And Arts, And Oft Destroys Them Both.

Peace Is Never More Than One Thought Away.

True Melancholy Breeds Your Perfect Fine Wit.

In The Hope To Meet Shortly Again, And Make Our Absence Sweet.

My Thoughts And I Were Of Another World.