The sages of old live again in us, and in opinions there is a metempsychosis.

That though we are certain of many things, yet that Certainty is no absolute Infallibility, there still remains the possibility of our being mistaken in all matters of humane Belief and Inquiry.

We have a mistaken notion of antiquity, calling that so which in truth is the world's nonage.

The woman in us still prosecutes a deceit like that begun in the garden.

How the purer spirit is united to his clod, is a knot too hard for fallen humanity to untie.

And for mathematical science, he that doubts their certainty hath need of a dose of hellebore.

The precipitancy of disputation, and the stir and noise of passions that usually attend it, must needs be prejudicial to verity.