Upon the whole, I am inclined to think that the far greater part, if not all, of those difficulties which have hitherto amused philosophers, and blocked up the way to knowledge, are entirely owing to our selves. That we have first raised a dust, and then complain, we cannot see.

And what are these fluxions? The velocities of evanescent increments. And what are these same evanescent increments? They are neither finite quantities, nor quantities infinitely small, nor yet nothing. May we not call them the ghosts of departed quantities...?

[Christianity] neither enjoins the nastiness of the Cynic, nor the insensibility of the Stoic.

I might as well doubt of my own being, as of the being of those things I actually see and feel.

Where the people are well educated, the art of piloting a state is best learned from the writings of Plato.

I had rather be an oyster than a man, the most stupid and senseless of animals.

Truth is the cry of all, but the game of few.