Gnarling sorrow hath less power to bite The man that mocks at it and sets it light.

I will instruct my sorrows to be proud; For grief is proud, and makes his owner stoop.

Sorrow breaks seasons and reposing hours, Makes the night morning and the noontide night.

When sorrows come, they come not single spies, But in battalions!

Her voice was ever soft, Gentle, and low-an excellent thing in woman.

Talkers are no good doers.

Celerity is never more admired Than by the negligent.

Why, courage then! What cannot be avoided 'Twere childish weakness to lament or fear.

An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.

Lowliness is young ambition's ladder, Whereto the climber-upward turns his face; But when he once attains the upmost round, He then unto the ladder turns his back, Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees By which he did ascend.