The sins we do, people behold with optics, Which shew them ten times more than common vices, And often multiply them.

The place that does Contain my books, the best companions, is To me a glorious court, where hourly I Converse with the, old sages and philosophers And sometimes for variety, I confer With kings and emperors, and weigh their counsels Calling their victories, if unjustly got, Unto a strict account and in my fancy, Deface their ill-plac'd statutes.

Come landlord fill a flowing bowl until it does run over, Tonight we will all merry be--tomorrow we'll get sober.

Fanaticism is the child of false zeal and of superstition, the father of intolerance and of persecution.

Deeds, not words shall speak to me.

Should I comfort those who do not mourn? Some preachers are too quick and too willing to hand out pardons to sinners who do not mourn over their crimes!

Vice gets more in this vicious world than piety.

Calamity is man's true touchstone.