“Soul of the age! The applause! delight! The wonder of our stage!”

How ready is heaven to those that pray!

Peace is never more than one thought away.

Heaven prepares good men with crosses; but no ill can happen to a good man.

Love that is ignorant and hatred have almost the same ends.

Hell itself must yield to industry.

Tis the common disease of all your musicians that they know no mean, to be entreated, either to begin or end.

A prince without letters is a Pilot without eyes. All his government is groping.

O! How vain and vile a passion is this fear! What base uncomely things it makes men do.

One woman reads another’s character Without the tedious trouble of deciphering

A valiant man Ought not to undergo, or tempt a danger, But worthily, and by selected ways, He undertakes with reason, not by chance. His valor is the salt t’ his other virtues, They’re all unseason’d without it.

Books are faithful repositories, which may be awhile neglected or forgotten, but when they are opened again, will again impart their instruction.

How Fortune piles her sports when she begins to practise them!

He that would have his virtue published, is not the servant of virtue, but glory.

Fortune, thou hadst no deity, if men Had wisdom.

Art hath an enemy call’d ignorance .

The man that is once hated, both his good and his evil deeds oppress him.

Sensual is everything that refers to the delight of the senses. And that’s what artists do, is stimulate the senses in any possible way.

Our delight in any particular study, art, or science rises and improves in proportion to the application which we bestow upon it. Thus, what was at first an exercise becomes at length an entertainment.

The degradation which characterizes the state into which you plunge him by punishing him pleases, amuses, and delights him.

How delightful are the pleasures of the imagination! In those delectable moments, the whole world is ours; not a single creature resists us.

We have had an unspeakably delightful journey, one of those journeys which seem to divide one’s life in two, by the new ideas they suggest and the new views of interest they open.

The imagination is the spur of delights… all depends upon it, it is the mainspring of everything; now, is it not by means of the imagination one knows joy? Is it not of the imagination that the sharpest pleasures arise?

Writers know words are their way towards truth and freedom, and so they use them with care, with thought, with fear, with delight.

We delight in one knowable thing, which comprehends all that is knowable; in one apprehensible, which draws together all that can be apprehended; in a single being that includes all, above all in the one which is itself the all.