Valor Is Abased By Too Much Loftiness.

Love, One Time, Layeth Burdens; Another Time, Giveth Wings.

Solitude, The Sly Enemy That Doth Separate A Man From Well-doing.

Every Present Occasion Will Catch The Senses Of The Vain Man; And With That Bridle And Saddle You May Ride Him.

The Violence Of Sorrow Is Not At The First To Be Striven Withal; Being, Like A Mighty Beast, Sooner Tamed With Following Than Overthrown By Withstanding.

A Dull Head Thinks Of No Better Way To Show Himself Wise, Than By Suspecting Everything In His Way.