Their [the Skeptics'] way of speaking is: "I settle nothing. . . . I do not understand it. . . . Nothing seems true that may not seem false." Their sacramental word is . . . , which is to say, I suspend my judgment.

The most unhappy and frail creatures are men and yet they are the proudest.

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

Whatever the Benefits of Fortune are , they yet require a Palate fit to relish and taste them; 'Tis Fruition, and not Possession, that renders us Happy.

My home...It is my retreat and resting place from wars, I try to keep this corner as a haven against the tempest outside, as I do another corner in my soul.

For there is no air that men so greedily draw in, that diffuses itself so soon, and that penetrates so deep as that of license.

The memory represents to us not what we choose but what it pleases.