“Good men but see death, the wicked taste it.”

It is the highest of earthly honors to be descended from the great and good. They alone cry out against a noble ancestry who have none of their own.

Ambition, like a torrent, ne’er looks back; And is a swelling, and the last affection A high mind can put off; being both a rebel Unto the soul and reason, and enforceth All laws, all conscience, treads upon religion, and offereth violence to nature’s self.

Many punishments sometimes, and in some cases, as much discredit a prince as many funerals a physician.

It holds for good polity ever, to have that outwardly in vilest estimation, which inwardly is most dear to us.

I now think, Love is rather deaf, than blind, For else it could not be, That she, Whom I adore so much, should so slight me, And cast my love behind.

Indeed there’s a woundy luck in names.

Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace Robes loosely flowing, hair as free Such sweet neglect more taketh me Than all the adulteries of art: They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.

For a man to write well, there are required three necessaries: to read the best authors, observe the best speakers, and much exercise of his own style.

Sweet meat must have sour sauce.

Language most shows a man; speak that I may see thee; it springs out of the most retired and inmost parts of us, and is the image of the parent of it, the mind. No glass renders a man’s form or likeness so true as his speech.

The burnt child dreads the fire.

Of all wild beasts preserve me from a tyrant; and of all tame a flatterer.

Greatness of name, in the father, ofttimes helps not forth, but overwhelms the son: They stand too near one another. The shadow kills the growth.

Nor use too swelling, or ill-sounded words . . . .

I do honor the very flea of his dog.

Fear to do base, unworthy things is valor; if they be one to us, to suffer them is valor too.

A good man’s life is all of a piece.

A good man may fall, but he falls like a ball [and rebounds]; the ignoble man falls like a lump of clay.

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

If men will impartially, and not asquint, look toward the offices and function of a poet, they will easily conclude to themselves the impossibility of any man’s being a good poet without first being a good man.

Bertrand Russell would not have wished to be called a saint of any description; but he was a great and good man.

Know, man hath all which Nature hath, but more, And in that more lie all his hopes of good.