What shall I do to be for ever known, And make the age to come my own?

As for being much known by sight, and pointed out, I cannot comprehend the honor that lies withal; whatsoever it be, every mountebank has it more than the best doctor.

Neither the praise nor the blame is our own.

Does not the passage of Moses and the Israelites into the Holy Land yield incomparably more poetic variety than the voyages of Ulysses or Aeneas?

All this world's noise appears to me a dull, ill-acted comedy!

May I a small house and large garden have; And a few friends, And many books, both true.

I would not fear nor wish my fate, but boldly say each night, to-morrow let my sun his beams display, or in clouds hide them; I have lived today.