I am... a mushroom; On whom the dew of heaven drops now and then.
I praise her (Fortune) while she lasts; if she shakes her quick wings, I resign what she has given, and take refuge in my own virtue, and seek honest undowered Poverty.
We can be poor in spirit, and I don't even consider myself wealthy, which is an interesting thing, it can be here today and gone tomorrow.
Fortune is like glass - the brighter the glitter, the more easily broken.
We read on the foreheads of those who are surrounded by a foolish luxury, that fortune sells what she is thought to give.
One minute you've got a lucky star watching over you and the next instant it's done a bunk.
Fortune, delighting in her cruel task, and playing her wanton game untiringly, is ever shifting her uncertain favours.
