One Pain Is Lessened By Another's Anguish.

O Momentary Grace Of Mortal Men, Which We More Hunt For Than The Grace Of God!

In Scorn Of Nature, Art Gave Lifeless Life.

My Desolation Does Begin To Make A Better Life.

Time Is The Nurse And Breeder Of All Good.

Conceit, More Rich In Matter Than In Words, Brags Of His Substance, Not Of Ornament: They Are But Beggars That Can Count Their Worth; But My True Love Is Grown To Such Excess, I Cannot Sum Up Half My Sum Of Wealth.