When I meet with any persons who write obscurely or converse confusedly, I am apt to suspect two things; first, that such persons do not understand themselves; and secondly, that they are not worthy of being understood by others.

Shakespeare, Butler and Bacon have rendered it extremely difficult for all who come after them to be sublime, witty or profound.

Honor is the most capricious in her rewards. She feeds us with air, and often pulls down our house, to build our monument.

Brutes leave ingratitude to man.

Perfection doesn't exist... only good attempts.

If we look backwards to antiquity it should be as those that are winning a race.

He who knows himself knows others.