Writing does not cause misery. It is born of misery.

No wonder, said an Ancient, that chance has so much power over us, since it is by chance that we live.

The same reason that makes us chide and brawl and fall out with any of our neighbors, causeth a war to follow between Princes.

Almost all the opinions we have are taken on authority and on credit.

Our zeal works wonders, whenever it supports our inclination toward hatred, cruelty, ambition.

We only labor to stuff the memory, and leave the conscience and the understanding unfurnished and void.

I have gathered a posy of other men’s flowers and only the thread that bonds them is my own.