This principle is old, but true as fate, Kings may love treason, but the traitor hate.

Cast away care, he that loves sorrow Lengthens not a day, nor can buy tomorrow; Money is trash, and he that will spend it, Let him drink merrily, fortune will send it.

This age thinks better of a gilded fool Than of a threadbare saint in wisdom’s school.

Honest labor bears a lovely face.

Surely man was not created to be an idle fellow; he was not set in this universal orchard to stand still as a tree.

Golden slumbers kiss your eyes, Smiles awake you when you rise.

Age is like love, it cannot be hid.

The calmest husbands make the stormiest wives.

O what a heaven is love! O what a hell!

This principle is old, but true as fate, Kings may love treason, but the traitor hate.

A mask of gold hides all deformities.

Arguments, like children, should be like the subject that begets them.

Were there no women, men might live like gods.

Sleep is that golden chain that ties health and our bodies together.

This world, after all our science and sciences, is still a miracle; wonderful, inscrutable, magical and more, to whosoever will think of it.

We are ne’er like angels till our passion dies.

What a heaven is love! O what a hell!