Some of our philosophizing divines have too much exalted the faculties of our souls, when they have maintained that by their force mankind has been able to find out God.

Fool that I was, upon my eagle's wings I bore this wren, till I was tired with soaring, and now he mounts above me.

They first condemn that first advised the ill.

If thou dost still retain the same ill habits, the same follies, too, still thou art bound to vice, and still a slave.

The propriety of thoughts and words, which are the hidden beauties of a play, are but confusedly judged in the vehemence of action.

To die is landing on some distant shore.

Nothing to build, and all things to destroy.