'Tis said that wrath is the last thing in a man to grow old |
Not houses finely roofed or the stones of walls well builded, nay nor canals and dockyards make the city, but men able to use their opportunity |
To be bowed by grief is folly; Naught is gained by melancholy; Better than the pain of thinking, Is to steep the sense in drinking |
Wine is a peep-hole on a man |
Wine is a peep-hole on a man |