What song the Syrens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women, though puzzling questions, are not beyond all conjecture.

Flattery is a juggler, and no kin unto sincerity.

I can hardly thinke there was any scared into Heaven; they go the surest way to Heaven who would serve God without a Hell; other Mercenaries, that crouch unto Him in feare of Hell, though they terme themselves servants, are indeed but the slaves of the Almighty.

The vices we scoff at in others laugh at us within ourselves.

For the world, I count it not an inn, but a hospital; and a place not to live, but to die in.

Content may dwell in all stations. To be low but above contempt may be high enough to be happy.

I could be content that we might procreate like trees, without conjunction, or that we were any way to perpetuate the world without this trivial and vulgar way of coition; it is the foolishest act a wise man commits in all his life.