I Am A Feather For Each Wind

[s]ince Brevity Is The Soul Of Wit, And Tediousness The Limbs And Outward Flourishes, I Will Be Brief.

Truly, I Would Not Hang A Dog By My Will, Much More A Man Who Hath Any Honesty In Him.

Our Enemies Are Our Outward Consciences.

Faults That Are Rich Are Fair.

Opinion's But A Fool, That Makes Us Scan The Outward Habit By The Inward Man.