There is no man alone, because every man is a Microcosm, and carries the whole world about him.

We censure others but as they disagree from that humor which we fancy laudable in ourselves, and commend others but for that wherein they seem to quadrate and consent with us.

That miracles have been, I do believe; that they may yet be wrought by the living, I do not deny: but have no confidence in those which are fathered on the dead.

We term sleep a death by which we may be literally said to die daily; in fine, so like death, I dare not trust it without my prayers.

To be nameless in worthy deeds exceeds an infamous history.

A little water makes a sea, a small puff of wind a Tempest.

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