“A new disease? I know not, new or old, but it may well be called poor mortals plague for, like a pestilence, it doth infect the houses of the brain till not a thought, or motion, in the mind, be free from the black poison of suspect.”

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.