Every place swarms with commentaries; of authors there is great scarcity.

I am one of those who hold that poetry is never so blithe as in a wanton and irregular subject.

Our own peculiar human condition is that we are as fit to be laughed at as able to laugh.

Rejoice in the things that are present; all else is beyond thee.

Dreams are faithful interpreters of our inclinations; but there is art required to sort and understand them.

I would like to suggest that our minds are swamped by too much study and by too much matter just as plants are swamped by too much water or lamps by too much oil; that our minds, held fast and encumbered by so many diverse preoccupations, may well lose the means of struggling free, remaining bowed and bent under the load; except that it is quite otherwise: the more our souls are filled, the more they expand; examples drawn from far-off times show, on the contrary, that great soldiers ad statesmen were also great scholars.

We are neither obstinately nor wilfully to oppose evils, nor truckle under them for want of courage, but that we are naturally to give way to them, according to their condition and our own, we ought to grant free passage to diseases; and I find they stay less with me who let them alone. And I have lost those which are reputed the most tenacious and obstinate of their own defervescence, without any help or art, and contrary to their rules. Let us a little permit nature to take her own way; she better understands her own affairs than we.