The Souls Of Emperors And

Our Great And Glorious Masterpiece Is To Live Appropriately.

I Find That The Best Virtue I Have Has In It Some Tincture Of Vice.

Everyone Calls Barbarity What He Is Not Accustomed To.

Can Anything Be Imagined So Ridiculous That This Miserable And Wretched Creature, Who Is Not So Much As Master Of Himself, But Subject To The Injuries Of All Things, Should Call Himself Master And Emperor Of The World, Of Which He Has Not Power To Know The Least Part, Much Less To Command The Whole?

What Harm Cause Not Those Huge Draughts Or Pictures Which Wanton Youth With Chalk Or Coals Draw In Each Passage, Wall Or Stairs Of Our Great Houses, Whence A Cruel Contempt Of Our Natural Store Is Bred In Them?