Sir Thomas Browne (1605 – 1682)
English author of varied works that disclose his wide learning in diverse fields including medicine, religion, science and the esoteric.
But the Quincunx of Heaven runs low, and 'tis time to close the five ports of knowledge.
Be charitable before Wealth makes thee covetous.
The world that I regard is my selfe, it is the Microcosme of mine owne frame, that I cast mine eye on; for the other, I use it but like my Globe, and turne it round sometimes for my recreation. Men that look upon my outside, perusing onely my condition, and fortunes, do erre in my altitude; for I am above Atlas his shoulders.
The noblest Digladiation is in the Theatre of ourselves.
Sleep is a death; oh, make me try
By sleeping what it is to die,
And as gently lay my head
On my grave as now my bed.
For the world, I count it not an Inn, but a Hospital, and a place, not to live, but to die in.
A Dialogue between two Infants in the womb concerning the state of this world, might handsomely illustrate our ignorance of the next, whereof methinks we yet discourse in Plato's Den, and are but Embryon Philosophers.
All things are artificial, for nature is the Art of God.
I look upon you as a gem of the old rock.
To be nameless in worthy deeds exceeds an infamous history.
There is surely a piece of Divinity within us, something that was before the Elements, and owes no homage unto the Sun.
I believe the world grows near its end, yet is neither old nor decayed, nor will ever perish upon the ruins of its own principles.
There is no man alone, because every man is a Microcosm, and carries the whole world about him.
But the iniquity of oblivion blindly scattereth her poppy, and deals with the memory of men without distinction to merit of perpetuity. Who can but pity the founder of the Pyramids? Herostratus lives that burnt the Temple of Diana, he is almost lost that built it.
This reasonable moderator, and equal piece of justice, Death.
It is the common wonder of all men, how among so many million of faces there should be none alike.
Not to be content with Life is the unsatisfactory state of those which destroy themselves; who being afraid to live, run blindly upon their own Death, which no Man fears by Experience.
How shall the dead arise, is no question of my faith; to believe only possibilities, is not faith, but mere philosophy.
Men that look upon my outside, perusing only my condition, and fortunes, do err in my altitude; for I am above Atlas his shoulders.
The severe Schools shall never laugh me out of the Philosophy of Hermes, that this visible world is but a picture of the invisible.