As peace is of all goodness, so war is an emblem, a hieroglyphic, of all misery.
There is in every miracle a silent chiding of the world, and a tacit reprehension of them who require, or who need miracles.
The difference between the reason of man and the instinct of the beast is this, that the beast does but know, but the man knows that he knows.
God himself took a day to rest in, and a good man’s grave is his Sabbath.
Affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath enough of it.
If I lose at play, I blaspheme; if my fellow loses, he blasphemes. So, God is always the loser.
That which attempts to elevate the ugly to the level of beauty becomes neither; but an obscenity.
Chastity is not chastity in an old man, but a disability to be unchaste.
How many times go we to comedies, to masques, to places of great and noble resort, nay even to church only to see the company.
Nothing but man of all envenomed things, doth work upon itself, with inborn stings.
Enjoyment always has a spoiling, otherwise it cannot be so.
We love and understand talent; we wish it be within us. The truly gifted, those exceptional few, must wait for the world to catch up.
Festive alcohol sometimes leads to an excess of honesty.
Man is not only a contributory creature, but a total creature; he does not only make one, but he is all; he is not a piece of the world, but the world itself, and next to the glory of God, the reason why there is a world.
Whilst my physicians by their love are grown Cosmographers, and I their map, who lie Flat on this bed.
That subtle knot which makes us man So must pure lovers souls descend T affections, and to faculties, Which sense may reach and apprehend, Else a great Prince in prison lies.
One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
So, so, break off this last lamenting kiss, Which sucks two souls, and vapors both away.
And swear No where Lives a woman true, and fair.
For I am every dead thing In whom love wrought new alchemy For his art did express A quintessence even from nothingness, From dull privations, and lean emptiness He ruined me, and I am re-begot Of absence, darkness, death; things which are not.