Lord, with what care hast Thou begirt us round! Parents first season us; then schoolmasters deliver us to laws; they send us bound to rules of reason, holy messengers, pulpits and Sundays, sorrow dogging sin, afflictions sorted, anguish of all sizes, fine nets and stratagems to catch us in, bibles laid open, millions of surprises, blessings beforehand, ties of gratefulness, the sound of glory ringing in our ears: without, our shame; within, our consciences; angels and grace, eternal hopes and fears. Yet all these fences and their whole array one cunning bosom-sin blows quite away.
Dare to be true; nothing can need a lie; a fault which needs it most grows two thereby.
Take all that is given whether wealth, love or language, nothing comes by mistake and with good digestion all can be turned to health.
Love and a cough cannot be hid.
Every path hath a puddle.
Praise the sea, but keep on the land.
A little given seasonably excuses a great gift.
Who hath no haste in his business, mountains to him seem valleys.
Destiny is always dark.
Without danger you cannot get beyond danger.
Spend not on hopes.
Great business turns on a little pin.
He who has the pepper may season as he lists.
Take the gentle path.
Sum up at night what thou hast done by day, and in the morning what thou hast to do.—Dress and undress thy soul; mark the decay and growth of it.—If with thy watch, that too be down, then wind up both; since we shall be most surely judged, make thine accounts agree.
Topics: Self-Knowledge, Reflection
Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, a box where sweets compacted lie.
A man of great memory without learning hath a rock and a spindle and no staff to spin.
Knowledge is but folly unless it is guided by grace.
Wine that cost nothing is digested before it be drunk.
Living well is the best revenge.
I struck the board, and cried, No more:
I will abroad.
What? shall I ever sigh and pine?
My lines and life are free; free as the road,
Loose as the wind, as large as store.
Shall I be still in suit?
Have I no harvest but a thorn
To let me blood, and not restore
What I have lost with cordial fruit?
Sure there was wine
Before my sighs did dry it; there was corn
Before my tears did drown it;
Is the year only lost to me?
Have I no bays to crown it?
Love, and a cough, cannot be hid.
None knows the weight of another’s burden.
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