I Account This Body Nothing But A

Sorrows, Because They Are Lingering Guests, I Will Entertain But Moderately, Knowing That The More They Are Made Of The Longer They Will Continue: And For Pleasures, Because They Stay Not, And Do But Call To Drink At My Door, I Will Use Them As Passengers With Slight Respect. He Is His Own Best Friend That Makes The Least Of Both Of Them.

I Will Rather Suffer A Thousand Wrongs Than Offer One. I Have Always Found That To Strive With A Superior Is Injurious; With An Equal, Doubtful; With An Inferior, Sordid And Base; With Any, Full Of Unquietness.

Ambition Is Torment Enough For An Enemy; For It Affords As Much Discontentment In Enjoying As In Want, Making Men Like Poisoned Rats, Which, When They Have Tasted Of Their Bane, Cannot Rest Till They Drink, And Then Can Much Less Rest Till They Die

Nothing Doth So Fool A Man As Extreme Passion. This Doth Make Them Fools Which Otherwise Are Not, And Show Them To Be Fools Which Are So.

Not Only Commission Makes A Sin. A Man Is Guilty Of All Those Sins He Hateth Not. If I Cannot Avoid All, Yet I Will Hate All.