Where I cannot satisfy my reason, I love to humour my fancy.
Art is the perfection of nature, ... nature is the art of God.
Though it be in the power of the weakest arm to take away life, it is not in the strongest to deprive us of death.
Miserable men commiserate not themselves; bowelless unto others, and merciless unto their own bowels.
I love to lose myself in a mystery to pursue my reason to an O altitudo.
Praise is a debt we owe unto the virtue of others, and due unto our own from all whom malice hath not made mutes, or envy struck dumb.