Robert Burton

Almost in every kingdom the most ancient families have been at first princes' bastards; their worthiest captains, best wits, greatest scholars, bravest spirits in all our annals, have been base [born].

Machiavel says virtue and riches seldom settle on one man.

Like him in Æsop, he whipped his horses withal, and put his shoulder to the wheel.

Seneca thinks the gods are well pleased when they see great men contending with adversity.

Aristotle said melancholy men of all others are most witty.

Felix Plater notes of some young physicians, that study to cure diseases, catch them themselves, will be sick, and appropriate all symptoms they find related of others to their own persons.

One was never married, and that's his hell; another is, and that's his plague.

See one promontory (said Socrates of old), one mountain, one sea, one river, and see all.

Homer himself must beg if he want means, and as by report sometimes he did "go from door to door and sing ballads, with a company of boys about him."

Hinc quam sic calamus sævior ense, patet. The pen worse than the sword.

We can make majors and officers every year, but not scholars.

They are proud in humility; proud that they are not proud.

Though they [philosophers] write contemptu gloriæ, yet as Hieron observes, they will put their names to their books.

All our geese are swans.

I may not here omit those two main plagues and common dotages of human kind, wine and women, which have infatuated and besotted myriads of people; they go commonly together.

A mere madness, to live like a wretch and die rich.

Were it not that they are loath to lay out money on a rope, they would be hanged forthwith, and sometimes die to save charges.

Like a hog, or dog in the manger, he doth only keep it because it shall do nobody else good, hurting himself and others.

[The rich] are indeed rather possessed by their money than possessors.

[Ambitious men] may not cease, but as a dog in a wheel, a bird in a cage, or a squirrel in a chain, so Budaeus compares them; they climb and climb still, with much labour, but never make an end, never at the top.

[Desire] is a perpetual rack, or horsemill, according to Austin, still going round as in a ring.

[Diseases] crucify the soul of man, attenuate our bodies, dry them, wither them, shrivel them up like old apples, make them so many anatomies.

They do not live but linger.

Every other sin hath some pleasure annexed to it, or will admit of an excuse; envy alone wants both. Other sins last but for awhile; the gut may be satisfied, anger remits, hatred hath an end, envy never ceaseth.