It is we that are blind, not fortune; because our eye is too dim to discern the mystery of her effects, we foolishly paint her blind, and hoodwink the providence of the Almighty.

Gardens were before gardeners, and but some hours after the earth.

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

Miserable men commiserate not themselves; bowelless unto others, and merciless unto their own bowels.

What then is the wisdom of the times called old? Is it the wisdom of gray hairs? No. It is the wisdom of the cradle.

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

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.