I Am More Afraid Of Making A

[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.

I Pray To God That I Shall Not Live One Hour After I Have Thought Of Using Deception.

I Have No Desire To Make Windows Into Men's Souls.

I Pluck Up The Good Lissome Herbs Of Sentences By Pruning, Eat Them By Reading, Digest Them By Musing, And Lay Them Up At Length In The High Seat Of Memory.

I Don't Keep A Dog And Bark Myself.