“I know no disease of the soul but ignorance, a pernicious evil, the darkener of man’s life, the disturber of his reason, and common confounder of truth.”

As it is a great point of art, when our matter requires it, to enlarge and veer out all sail, so to take it in and contract it is of no less praise when the argument doth ask it.

Spread yourself upon his bosom publicly, whose heart you would eat in private.

Prevent your day at morning.

Memory, of all the powers of the mind, is the most delicate and frail.

Man and wife make one fool.

Calumnies are answered best with silence.

A good life is a main argument.

Whom the disease of talking still once posses-seth, he can never hold his peace.

Whosoever loves not picture is injurious to truth, and all the wisdom of poetry. Picture is the invention of heaven, the most ancient and most akin to nature. It is itself a silent work, and always one and the same habit.

Many might go to heaven with half the labour they go to hell, if they would venture their industry the right way.

All concord’s born of contraries.

Minds that are great and free, should not on fortune pause: ‘Tis crown enough to virtue still, her own applause.

Ambition, like a torrent, never looks back.

The dignity of truth is lost with much protesting.

Freedom doth with degree dispense.

Good men are the stars, the planets of the ages wherein they live, and illustrate the times.