The Gretteste Clerkes Been Noght

Fie On Possession, But If A Man Be Vertuous Withal.

Death Is The End Of Every Worldly Pain.

The Life So Brief, The Art So Long In The Learning, The Attempt So Hard, The Conquest So Sharp, The Fearful Joy That Ever Slips Away So Quickly - By All This I Mean Love, Which So Sorely Astounds My Feeling With Its Wondrous Operation, That When I Think Upon It I Scarce Know Whether I Wake Or Sleep.

Ther Nis No Werkman, Whatsoevere He Be, That May Bothe Werke Wel And Hastily.

Make A Virtue Of Necessity.