I love to lose myself in a mystery to pursue my reason to an O altitudo.

Had not almost every man suffered by the Press, or were not the tyranny thereof become universal, I had not wanted reason for complaint.

If there be any among those common objects of hatred I do contemn and laugh at, it is that great enemy of reason, virtue, and religion, the multitude; that numerous piece of monstrosity, which, taken asunder, seem men, and the reasonable creatures of God, but, confused together, make but one great beast, and a monstrosity more prodigious than Hydra.

Every Country hath its Machiavel.

How shall we expect charity towards others, when we are uncharitable to ourselves?

The man without a navel still lives in me.

I am not so much afraid of death, as ashamed thereof, 'tis the very disgrace and ignominy of our natures.