in many things
     We consider our death as a very great thing
     We do not correct the man we hang; we correct others by him
     We do not easily accept the medicine we understand
     We do not go, we are driven
     We do not so much forsake vices as we change them
     We have lived enough for others
     We have more curiosity than capacity
     We have naturally a fear of pain, but not of death
     We have not the thousandth part of ancient writings
     We have taught the ladies to blush
     We much more aptly imagine an artisan upon his close-stool
     We must learn to suffer what we cannot evade
     We neither see far forward nor far backward
     We only labour to stuff the memory
     We ought to grant free passage to diseases
     We say a good marriage because no one says to the contrary
     We set too much value upon ourselves
     We still carry our fetters along with us
     We take other men’s knowledge and opinions upon trust
     Weakness and instability of a private and particular fancy
     Weigh, as wise:  men should, the burden of obligation
     Well, and what if it had been death itself? 
     Were more ambitious of a great reputation than of a good one
     What a man says should be what he thinks
     What are become of all our brave philosophical precepts? 
     What can they not do, what do they fear to do (for beauty)
     What can they suffer who do not fear to die? 
     What did I say? that I have? no, Chremes, I had
     What he did by nature and accident, he cannot do by design
     What is more accidental than reputation? 
     What may be done to-morrow, may be done to-day
     What more? they lie with their lovers learnedly
     What need have they of anything but to live beloved and honoured
     What sort of wine he liked the best:  “That of another”
     What step ends the near and what step begins the remote
     What they ought to do when they come to be men
     What we have not seen, we are forced to receive from other hands
     What, shall so much knowledge be lost
     Whatever was not ordinary diet, was instead of a drug
     When I travel I have nothing to care for but myself
     When jealousy seizes these poor souls
     When their eyes give the lie to their tongue
     When time begins to wear things out of memory
     When we have got it, we want something else
     “When will this man be wise,” said he, “if he is yet learning?”
     When you see me moved first, let me alone, right or wrong
     Where the lion’s skin is too short
     Where their profit is, let them there have their pleasure too
     Wherever the mind is perplexed, it is in an entire disorder
     Whilst thou wast silent, thou seemedst to be some great thing
     Whimpering is offensive to the living and vain to the dead