Each Present Joy Or Sorrow Seems The

Doubt Is A Thief That Often Makes Us Fear To Tread Where We Might Have Won.

The Devil Hath Power To Assume A Pleasing Shape.

Anger Is Like A Full Hot Horse, Who Being Allowed His Way, Self-mettle Tires Him.

My Heart Laments That Virtue Cannot Live Out Of The Teeth Of Emulation.

As Love Is Full Of Unbefitting Strains, All Wanton As A Child, Skipping And Vain, Form'd By The Eye And Therefore, Like The Eye, Full Of Strange Shapes, Of Habits And Of Forms, Varying In Subjects As The Eye Doth Roll To Every Varied Object In His Glance