Books, as Dryden has aptly termed them, are spectacles to read nature. Aeschylus and Aristotle, Shakespeare and Bacon, are priests who preach and expound the mysteries of man and the universe. They teach us to understand and feel what we see, to decipher and syllable the hieroglyphics of the senses.

Philosophy cannot raise the commonalty up to her level: so, if she is to become popular, she must sink to theirs.

The effects of human wickedness are written on the page of history in characters of blood: but the impression soon fades away; so more blood must be shed to renew it.

We like slipping, but not falling; our real anxiety is to be tempted enough.

Some persons take reproof good-humoredly enough, unless you are so unlucky as to hit a sore place. Then they wince and writhe, and start up and knock you down for your impertinence, or wish you good morning.

Many men spend their lives in gazing at their own shadows, and so dwindle away into shadows thereof.

When will talkers refrain from evil speaking: when listeners refrain from evil-hearing.