In a certain sense all men are historians.

Speech is human, silence is divine, yet also brutish and dead: therefore we must learn both arts.

It is the feeling of injustice that is insupportable to all men.

The glory of a workman, still more of a master workman, that he does his work well, ought to be his most precious possession; like the honor of a soldier, dearer to him than life.

Not on morality, but on cookery, let us build our stronghold: there brandishing our frying-pan, as censer, let us offer sweet incense to the Devil, and live at ease on the fat things he has provided for his elect!

Is not cant the materia prima of the devil, from which all falsehoods, imbecilities, abominations, body themselves, from which no true thing can come? For cant is itself the properly a double-distilled lie, the second power of a lie.

If a man was great while living, he becomes tenfold greater when dead.