Robert South

A man's life is an appendix to his heart.

He who has no mind to trade with the devil, should be so wise as to keep away from his shop.

Guilt upon the conscience, like rust upon iron, both defiles and consumes it, by degrees gnawing and creeping into it, as that does; till at length it has eat out the very heart and substance of the metal.

[A]s for covetousness, we may truly say of it, that it makes both the alpha and omega in the devil's alphabet, and that it is the first vice in corrupt nature which moves, and the last which dies.

The covetous person lives as if the world were made altogether for him, and not he for the world.

Action is the highest perfection and drawing forth the utmost power, vigor, and activity of man's nature.

[M]ost of the appearing mirth in the world is not mirth, but art. The wounded spirit is not seen, but walks under a disguise.

[T]hough reason is not to be relied upon, as a guide universally sufficient to direct us what to do; yet it is generally to be relied upon and obeyed, where it tells us what we are not to do.

Passion is the drunkenness of the mind.

[I]f there be any truer measure of a man, than by what he does, it must be, by what he gives.

The seven wise men of Greece, so famous for their wisdom all the world over, acquired all that fame, each of them by a single sentence, consisting of two or three words.

[S]ociety is built upon trust, and trust upon the confidence that men have of one another's integrity.

[T]here never was any heart truly great and generous' that was not also tender and compassionate.

[N]o man's religion ever survives his morals.

It is idleness that creates impossibilities; and where men care not to do a thing, they shelter themselves under a persuasion that it cannot be done.

[H]e that despairs limits an infinite power to a finite apprehension, and measures Providence by his own little contracted model.

For he that is a good man, is three quarters of his way towards the being a good Christian, wheresoever he lives, or whatsoever he is called.

Truth itself shall lose its credit, if delivered by a person that has none.

[W]onder is from surprise; and surprise ceases upon experience.

Innocence is like polished armour; it adorns, and it defends.

Anger [is], according to some, a transient hatred, or at least very like it.

An Aristotle was but the rubbish of an Adam, and Athens but the Rudiments of Paradise.