Robert Burton (1577 – 1640)
English scholar at Oxford University, whose chief claim to fame is for writing The Anatomy of Melancholy.
Christ himself was poor... And as he was himself, so he informed his apostles and disciples, they were all poor, prophets poor, apostles poor.
No cord nor cable can so forcibly draw, or hold so fast, as love can do with a twined thread.
He is only fantastical that is not in fashion.
As clear and as manifest as the nose in a man's face.
Like a hog, or dog in the manger, he doth only keep it because it shall do nobody else good, hurting himself and others.
A mere madness, to live like a wretch and die rich.
They lard their lean books with the fat of others' works.
We can say nothing but what hath been said. Our poets steal from Homer... Our story-dressers do as much; he that comes last is commonly best.
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."
Make a virtue of necessity.
Old friends become bitter enemies on a sudden for toys and small offenses.
The commonwealth of Venice in their armory have this inscription: "Happy is that city which in time of peace thinks of war."
Hannibal, as he had mighty virtues, so had he many vices; he had two distinct persons in him.
To enlarge or illustrate this power and effect of love is to set a candle in the sun.
Melancholy and despair, though often, do not always concur; there is much difference: melancholy fears without a cause, this upon great occasion; melancholy is caused by fear and grief, but this torment procures them and all extremity of bitterness.
Diogenes struck the father when the son swore.
Going as if he trod upon eggs.
They have cheveril consciences that will stretch.
What can't be cured must be endured.
Idleness is an appendix to nobility.