My Trade And Art Is To Live.

Why Dost Thou Complain Of This World? It Detains Thee Not; Thy Own Cowardice Is The Cause, If Thou Livest In Pain.

There Is No So Wretched And Coarse A Soul Wherein Some Particular Faculty Is Not Seen To Shine.

There Is No Doubt That Greek And Latin Are Great And Handsome Ornaments, But We Buy Them Too Dear.

It Is For Little Souls, That Truckle Under The Weight Of Affairs, Not To Know How Clearly To Disengage Themselves, And Not To Know How To Lay Them Aside And Take Them Up Again.

I Know Well What I Am Fleeing From But Not What I Am In Search Of.