Thus there are two books from whence I collect my Divinity; besides that written one of God, another of his servant Nature, that universal and public Manuscript, that lies expans'd unto the eyes of all; those that never saw him in the one, have discovered him in the other.

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

The long habit of living indisposeth us for dying.

There are no grotesques in nature; not anything framed to fill up empty cantons, and unnecessary spaces.

Men have lost their reason in nothing so much as their religion, wherein stones and clouts make martyrs.

Life is a pure flame and we live by an invisible sun within us.

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.