And for the few that only lend their ear, That few is all the world.
— Samuel Daniel
Striving to tell his woes, words would not come; For light cares speak, when mighty griefs are dumb.
Custom, that is before all law; Nature, that is above all art.
The stars that have most glory have no rest.
We come to know best what men are, in their worse jeopardizes.
Love is a sickness full of woes, All remedies refusing; A plant that with most cutting grows, Most barren with best using.
Beauty, sweet love, is like the morning dew, Whose short refresh upon tender green, Cheers for a time, but till the sun doth show And straight is gone, as it had never been.
By adversity are wrought the greatest works of admiration, and all the fair examples of renown, out of distress and misery are grown.
The wise are above books.
