Nature's lay idiot, I taught thee to love.

Who are a little wise the best fools be.

If poisonous minerals, and if that tree, Whose fruit threw death on else immortal us, If lecherous goats, if serpents envious Cannot be damned; alas; why should I be?

Poetry is a counterfeit creation, and makes things that are not, as though they were

Never start with tomorrow to reach eternity. Eternity is not being reached by small steps.

When one man dies, one chapter is not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language.

Wicked is not much worse than indiscreet.