Thomas Fuller

He that flings dirt at another dirtieth himself the most.

He that flings dirt at another dirtieth himself the most.

Fools grow without watering.

Fools grow without watering.

He that is proud of the rustling of his silks, like a madman,
laughs at the ratling of his read more

He that is proud of the rustling of his silks, like a madman,
laughs at the ratling of his fetters. For indeed, Clothes ought
to be our remembrancers of our lost innocency.

Tombs are the clothes of the dead. A grave is but a plain suit,
and a rich monument is read more

Tombs are the clothes of the dead. A grave is but a plain suit,
and a rich monument is one embroidered.

He ploughs in sand, and sows against the wind,
That hopes for constant love of woman kind.

He ploughs in sand, and sows against the wind,
That hopes for constant love of woman kind.