From The End Spring New

There Is An Herb Named In Latine Convolvulus (i.e. With Wind), Growing Among Shrubs And Bushes, With Carrieth A Flower Not Unlike To This Lilly, Save That It Yeeldeth No Smell Nor Hath Those Chives Within; For Whitenesse They Resemble One Another Very Much, As If Nature In Making This Floure Were A Learning And Trying Her Skill How To Frame The Lilly Indeed.

Indeed, What Is There That Does Not Appear Marvelous When It Comes To Our Knowledge For The First Time? How Many Things, Too, Are Looked Up On As Quite Impossible Until They Have Been Actually Effected?

Wine Maketh The Band Quivering, The Eye Watery, The Night Unquiet, Lewd Dreams, A Stinking Breath In The Morning, And An Utter Forgetfulness Of All Things.

Nature Makes Us Buy Her Presents At The Price Of So Many Sufferings That It Is Doubtful Whether She Deserves Most The Name Of Parent Or Stepmother.

Nulla Dies Sine Linea - Not A Day Without A Line.