Of The Smells, Bread; Of The Tastes,

Help Thyself, And God Will Help Thee.

To Seek These Things Is Lost Labour; Geese In An Oyle Pot, Fat Hogs Among Jews, And Wine In A Fishing Net.

Grief Melts Away Like Snow In May, As If There Were No Such Cold Thing.

The Groundsell Speakes Not Save What It Heard At The Hinges.

He That Hath Lands Hath Quarrells.