Minds that are great and free, should not on fortune pause: 'Tis crown enough to virtue still, her own applause.

Popular men, They must create strange monsters, and then quell them, To make their arts seem something.

Who will not judge him worthy to be robbed That sets his doors wide open to a thief, And shows the felon where his treasure lies?

Whosoever loves not picture is injurious to truth, and all the wisdom of poetry. Picture is the invention of heaven, the most ancient and most akin to nature. It is itself a silent work, and always one and the same habit.

Let argument bear no unmusical sound.

True gladness doth not always speak; joy, bred and born but in the tongue, is weak.

I perceive affection makes a fool Of any man too much the father.