What is this, Alcibiades? Are we to have neither conversation nor singing over our cups; but simply to drink as if we were thirsty?

Far on the right, her dogs foul Scylla hides:
Charybdis roaring on the left presides,
And in her greedy whirlpool sucks the tides;
Then spouts them from below: with fury driv’n,
The waves mount up and wash the face of heav’n.
But Scylla from her den, with open jaws,
The sinking vessel in her eddy draws,
Then dashes on the rocks. A human face,
And virgin bosom, hides her tail’s disgrace:
Her parts obscene below the waves descend,
With dogs inclos’d, and in a dolphin end.
‘Tis safer, then, to bear aloof to sea,
And coast Pachynus, tho’ with more delay,
Than once to view misshapen Scylla near,
And the loud yell of wat’ry wolves to hear.

But where the company are real gentlemen and men of education, you will see no flute-girls, nor dancing-girls, nor harp-girls; and they have no nonsense or games, but are contented with one another’s conversation, of which their own voices are the medium, and which they carry on by turns and in an orderly manner, even though they are very liberal in their potations.

Let every man observe, and be a law unto himself.

Nothing pesters the body and mind sooner than to be still fed, to eat and ingurgitate beyond all measure, as many do. “By overmuch eating and continual feasts they stifle nature, and choke up themselves; which, had they lived coarsely, or like galley-slaves tied to an oar, might have happily prolonged many fair years.” [saith Lessius’ Hygiasticon]

Temperance is like a bridle of gold, and he that can use it aright, ego non summis viris comparo, sed simillimum Deo judico [Tully], is liker a god than a man: for as it will transform a beast to a man again, so will it make a man a god.

An ass and a mule went laden over a brook, the one with salt, the other with wool; the mule’s pack was wetted by chance, the salt melted, his burden the lighter, and he thereby much eased; he told the ass, who, thinking to speed as well, wet his pack likewise at the next water, but it was much the heavier, and consequently he quite tired. So one thing may be good and bad to several parties, upon diverse occasions (Prudenti diffidentia / Nil est melius, nil utilius mortalibus).

The pattern of life, therefore, appears to have made the world weak and to have handed it over as a prey to the wicked, who run it successfully and securely since they are well aware that the generality of men, with paradise for their goal, consider how best to bear, rather than how best to avenge, their injuries.

June 8th [1660]. Out early, took horses at Deale. I troubled much with the King’s gittar, and Fairbrother, the rogue that I intrusted with the carrying of it on foot, whom I thought I had lost. Come to Gravesend. A good handsome wench I kissed, the first that I have seen a great while.

Sir Anthony Absolute: Madam, a circulating library in a town is as an ever-green tree of diabolical knowledge! It blossoms throughout the year! —and depend on it, Mrs. Malaprop, that they who are so fond of handling the leaves, will long for the fruit at last.

My friends, Providence is put to his trumps. A revolution, what does that prove? That God is hard up. He makes a coup d’état because there is a solution of continuity between the present and the future, and because he, God, is unable to join the two ends.

And to see so much discomfort above and below, so much rascality and odiousness and stinginess and distress in the heavens and on earth… to see winter, which is nothing but a rent in the zenith through which the wind blows, to see so many tatters even in the brand new purple of the morning on the tops of the hills, to see the dew drops, those false pearls, to see the frost, that paste, to see humanity torn, and events patched, and so many spots on the sun, and so many holes in the moon, to see such misery everywhere — I suspect that God is not rich.

He keeps up appearances, it is true, but I feel the pinch. We must not judge the gods from appearances. Beneath the gilding of the sky I catch a glimpse of a poor universe, Creation is bankrupt. That is why I am malcontent.