Remembrance Of Things Past.

A Sentence Is But A Cheveril Glove To A Good Wit; How Quickly The Wrong Side May Be Turned Outward!

And Oftentimes Excusing Of A Fault Doth Make The Fault The Worse By The Excuse.

Who Are The Violets Now That Strew The Lap Of The New-come Spring?

Ere Yet The Salt Of Most Unrighteous Tears Had Left The Flushing Of Her Gallèd Eyes, She Married. O, Most Wicked Speed, To Post With Such Dexterity To Incestuous Sheets!

Love Does Not See With The Eyes, But With The Soul.