Happy is he who knows his follies in his youth.

He came time enough who was hung by candlelight.

He does not live in this world that can skin a grindstone.

He drives a good waggonful into his farm who gets a good wife.

He fears the sack who has been in it.

He had need rise betimes who would please everybody.

He has command of the sack who is seated on it.

He is a fool that praises himself, and he a madman that speaks ill of himself.

He is a man, who acts like a man.

He is a poor Smith who is afraid of sparks.

He is easy to lure, who is ready to follow.

He is little suited to be a baker, whose head is made of butter.

He is most cheated who cheats himself.

He is most likely to spill who holds the vessel in his hand.

He is my friend that grindeth at my mill.

He is my friend that succoureth me, not he that pitieth me.

He is nearest a thing, who has it in his hands.

He is nearest to God who has the fewest wants.

He is never likely to have a good thing cheap that is afraid to ask a price.

He is no small knave who knows a great one.

He is not a bad driver who knows how to turn.

He is not yet born who can please everybody.

He is young enough who has health, and he is rich enough who has no debts.

He knocks boldly at the door who brings a welcome message.

He knows best where the shoe pinches who wears it.