We know little of the things for which we pray.
He was as fresh as is the month of May.
Filth and old age, I’m sure you will agree, are powerful wardens upon chastity.
Murder will out, this my conclusion.
The life so short, the crafts so long to learn.
The guilty think all talk is of themselves.
Forbid us something, and that thing we desire.
And she was fair as is the rose in May.
There’s never a new fashion but it’s old.
Nowhere so busy a man as he than he, and yet he seemed busier than he was.
The greatest scholars are not usually the wisest people.
First he wrought, and afterward he taught.
Love is blind.
Whoso will pray, he must fast and be clean, And fat his soul, and make his body lean.
There’s no workman, whatsoever he be, That may both work well and hastily.