The Soul Of Man Is

He That Departs With His Own Honesty For Vulgar , Doth It Too Dearly Buy.

Nothing Is A Courtesy Unless It Be Meant Us, And That Friendly And Lovingly. We Owe No Thanks To Rivers That They Carry Our Boats, Or Winds That They Be Favoring And Fill Our Sails, Or Meats That They Be Nourishing; For These Are What They Are Necessarily. Horses Carry Us, Trees Shade Us; But They Know It Not.

Whom The Disease Of Talking Still Once Posses-seth, He Can Never Hold His Peace.

Force Works On Servile Natures, Not The Free.

Fear To Do Base, Unworthy Things Is Valor; If They Be One To Us, To Suffer Them Is Valor Too.