Such As We Are Made Of, Such

Well, Every One Can Master A Grief But He That Has It.

Honour Travels In A Strait So Narrow Where One But Goes Abreast.

This World Is Not For Aye, Nor 'tis Not Strange That Even Our Loves Should With Our Fortunes Change, For 'tis A Question Left Us Yet To Prove, Whether Love Lead Fortune, Or Else Fortune Love.

A Gentleman That Loves To Hear Himself Talk, Will Speak More In A Minute Than He Will Stand To In A Month.

Look On Beauty, And You Shall See 'tis Purchased By The Weight; Which Therein Works A Miracle In Nature, Making Them Lightest That Wear Most Of It: So Are Those Crisped Snaky Golden Locks Which Make Such Wanton Gambols With The Wind Upon Supposed Fairness, Often Known To Be The Dowry Of A Second Head, The Skull That Bred Them In The Sepulchre.