We have a mistaken notion of antiquity, calling that so which in truth is the world's nonage.
Man doth not yield him to the angels, nor unto death utterly, save only through the weakness of his feeble will.
The belief of our Reason is an Exercise of Faith, and Faith is an Act of Reason.
Some pretences daunt and discourage us, while others raise us to a brisk assurance.
The woman in us still prosecutes a deceit like that begun in the garden.
To converse at the distance of the Indes by means of sympathetic contrivances may be as natural to future times as to us is a literary correspondence.