Fame then was cheap, and the first comer sped; And they have kept it since by being dead.
All, as they say, that glitters is not gold.
Content with poverty, my soul I arm; And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.
Virtue without success is a fair picture shown by an ill light; but lucky men are favorites of heaven; all own the chief, when fortune owns the cause.
The World to Bacon does not only owe it's present knowledge, but its future too.
When we view elevated ideas of Nature, the result of that view is admiration, which is always the cause of pleasure.