Of all the paths [that] lead to a woman's love Pity's the straightest.
He is not rich that possesses much, but he that covets no more; and he is not poor that enjoys little, but he that wants too much.
Nothing's so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.
Envy, like the worm, never runs but to the fairest fruit; like a cunning bloodhound, it singles out the fattest deer in the flock.
Oh, love will make a dog howl in rhyme.
Let no man fear to die, we love to sleep all, and death is but the sounder sleep.
The true way to gain much, is never to desire to gain too much.
