Even The Best Things Ill Used Become

What Fools Are We, To Be Besotted With The Love Of Our Own Trouble, And To Hate Our Liberty And Rest!

As The Most Generous Vine, If It Is Not Pruned, Runs Out Into Many Superfluous Stems, And Grows At Last Weak And Fruitless; So Dote The Best Man, If He Be Not Cut Short Of His Desires And Pruned With Afflictions. If It Be Painful To Bleed, It Is Worse To Wither. Let Me Be Pruned, That I May Grow, Rather Than Be Cut Up To Burn.

Let Me Know Myself; Let Others Guess At Me.

How Endless Is That Volume Which God Hath Written Of The World! Every Creature Is A Letter, Every Day A New Page.

Ambition Is Torment Enough For An Enemy; For It Affords As Much Discontentment In Enjoying As In Want, Making Men Like Poisoned Rats, Which, When They Have Tasted Of Their Bane, Cannot Rest Till They Drink, And Then Can Much Less Rest Till They Die