“Love works a different way in different minds, the fool it enlightens and the wise it blinds.”

Much malice mingled with a little wit Perhaps may censure this mysterious writ.

If the faults of men in orders are only to be judged among themselves, they are all in some sort parties; for, since they say the honour of their order is concerned in every member of it, how can we be sure that they will be impartial judges?

When I consider life, it is all a cheat. Yet fooled with hope, people favor this deceit.

Since every man who lives is born to die, And none can boast sincere felicity, With equal mind, what happens, let us bear, Nor joy nor grieve too much for things beyond our care. Like pilgrims to the’ appointed place we tend; The world’s an inn, and death the journey’s end.

A man is to be cheated into passion, but to be reasoned into truth.

Our vows are heard betimes! and Heaven takes care To grant, before we can conclude the prayer: Preventing angels met it half the way, And sent us back to praise, who came to pray.

The trumpet’s loud clangor Excites us to arms.

Present joys are more to flesh and blood Than a dull prospect of a distant good.

Forgiveness to the injured does belong; but they ne’er pardon who have done wrong.

Trust reposed in noble natures obliges them the more.

Some of our philosophizing divines have too much exalted the faculties of our souls, when they have maintained that by their force mankind has been able to find out God.

Great wits are sure to madness near allied, and thin partitions do their bounds divide.

All heiresses are beautiful.

Old as I am, for ladies’ love unfit, The power of beauty I remember yet.

For your ignorance is the mother of your devotion to me.

All, as they say, that glitters is not gold.

I think that everything is possible as long as you put your mind to it and you put the work and time into it. I think your mind really controls everything.

Maybe we slip in and out of alternate worlds through our minds and our imaginations, picking up scar tissue from other dimensions.

His mind is so open – so open that ideas simply pass through it.

The briefest moment shared with you-the longest on my mind.

If you love my heart and mind, then you would love me, for all that I’m. But if you don’t love my every flaw, then you mustn’t love me- not at all.

The one self- knowledge worth having is to know one’s own mind.

Could we have entered into the mind of Sir Isaac Newton, and have traced all the steps by which he produced his great works, we might see nothing very extraordinary in the process.

The hunter for aphorisms on human nature has to fish in muddy water, and he is even condemned to find much of his own mind.