One of the funny things about reading works by Shakespeare (born today in 1564) is what a great writer of fortune cookie fortunes he was:
Beggers mounted run their horse to death.
To weep is to make less the depth of grief.
A little fire is quickly trodden out, which, being suffered, rivers cannot quench.
Every cloud engenders not a storm.
Talkers are no good doers.
An honest tale speeds best being plainly told.
Unquiet meals make ill digestions.
He that is giddy thinks the earth turns round.
Wise and slow; they stumble that run fast.
'Tis an ill cook that can not lick his own fingers.
Tempt not a desperate man.
The ripest fruit falls first.
It is a wise father that knows his own child.
They that touch pitch will be defiled.
These are mostly from his earlier plays; as he got more practice, he used fewer epigrams.