Gold Is The Fool's Curtain, Which Hides

When Two Friends Part They Should Lock Up One Another's Secrets, And Interchange Their Keys.

A Combed Writing Will Cost Both Sweat And The Rubbing Of The Brain. And Combed I Wish It, Not Frizzled Or Curled.

I Love The Man That Is Modestly Valiant; That Stirs Not Till He Most Needs, And Then To Purpose. A Continued Patience I Commend Not.

Discontent Is Like Ink Poured Into Water, Which Fills The Whole Fountain Full Of Blackness.

Shall I Speak Truly What I Now See Below? The World Is All A Carkass, Smoak And Vanity, The Shadow Of A Shadow, A Play And In One Word, Just Nothing.