The Past Cannot Be Cured.

[to Edward De Vere, Earl Of Oxford, On His Return From Self-imposed Exile, Occasioned By The Embarrassing Flatulence He Had Experienced In The Presence Of The Queen:] My Lord, I Had Forgot The Fart.

Where Might Is Mixed With Wit, There Is Too Good An Accord In A Government.

One Man With A Head On His Shoulders Is Worth A Dozen Without.

I Have Never Been Able To Be So Allured By The Prospect Of Advantages Or So Terrified By Misfortunes, Swayed By Honours Or Fettered By Affection, Nay Not Even So Smitten By The Fear Of Death, As To Enter Upon Marriage.

Of Myself I Must Say This, I Never Was Any Greedy, Scraping Grasper, Nor A Strait Fast-holding Prince, Nor Yet A Master; My Heart Was Never Set On Worldly Goods, But Only For My Subjects' Good.