A mans life is an appendix to his heart. — Robert South

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

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

"[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."

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

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

"[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."