Vain-glorious men are the scorn of the wise, the admiration of fools, the idols of paradise, and the slaves of their own vaunts |
Virtue is like a rich stone, - best plain set. |
Virtue is like precious odours,- most fragrant when they are incensed or crushed. |
We are much beholden to Machiavel and others, that write what men do, and not what they ought to do. |
We cannot command Nature except by obeying her. |
We cannot too often think there is a never sleeping eye, which reads the heart, and registers our thoughts |
What is it then to have or have no wife, / But single thraldom, or a double strife? |
What is truth? said jesting Pilate; and would not stay for an answer. |
What then remains but that we still should cry for being born, and, being born, to die? |
When a man laughs at his troubles he loses a great many friends. They never forgive the loss of their prerogative. |
When you wander, as you often delight to do, you wander indeed, and give never such satisfaction as the curious time requires. This is not caused by any natural defect, but first for want of election, when you, having a large and fruitful mind, should not so much labour what to speak as to find what to leave unspoken. Rich soils are often to be weeded. |
Whence we see spiders, flies, or ants entombed and preserved forever in amber, a more than royal tomb. |
Who ever is out of patience is out of possession of their soul. |
Who then to frail mortality shall trust but limns on water, or but writes in dust |
Whosoever is delighted in solitude is either a wild beast or a god |