Think not ambition wise, because 't is brave.
How beautiful is sorrow when it is dressed by virgin innocence! it makes felicity in others seem deformed.
What one cannot, another can.
Since knowledge is but sorrow's spy, It is not safe to know.
Slow seems their speed whose thoughts before them run.
How much pleasure they lose (and even the pleasures of heroic poesy are not unprofitable) who take away the liberty of a poet, and fetter his feet in the shackles of a historian.