There is not one of us that would not be worse than kings, if so continually corrupted as they are with a sort of vermin called flatterers.

But the touch or company of any man whatsoever stirreth up their heat, which in their solitude was hushed and quiet, and lay as cinders raked up in ashes.

Nothing else but an insatiate thirst of enjoying a greedily desired object.

I see this evident, that we willingly accord to piety only the services that flatter our passions.

But sure there is need of other remedies than dreaming, a weak contention of art against nature.

No pleasure is fully delightful without communications, and no delight absolute except imparted.

He who fears he will suffer, already suffers from his fear.