Half Our Days We Pass In The

To Me Avarice Seems Not So Much A Vice As A Deplorable Piece Of Madness.

As Reason Is A Rebel To Faith, So Passion Is A Rebel To Reason.

Festination May Prove Precipitation; Deliberating Delay May Be Wise Cunctation.

Every Country Hath Its Machiavel.

Praise Is A Debt We Owe Unto The Virtue Of Others, And Due Unto Our Own From All Whom Malice Hath Not Made Mutes, Or Envy Struck Dumb.