I Almost Die For Food, And Let

Give Every Man Thine Ear, But Few Thy Voice; Take Each Man's Censure, But Reserve Thy Judgment.

A High Hope For A Low Heaven: God Grant Us Patience!

Better A Little Chiding Than A Great Deal Of Heartbreak.

The Fortune Of Us That Are The Moon's Men Doth Ebb And Flow Like The Sea, Being Governed, As The Sea Is, By The Moon.

Nothing 'gainst Times Scythe Can Make Defence.