Quotes from Robert Burton

Every man hath a good and a bad angel attending on him in particular all his life long.

A dwarf standing on the shoulders of a giant may see farther than a giant himself.

A blow with a word strikes deeper than a blow with a sword.

Generally thus much we may conclude of melancholy; that it is [2604] most pleasant at first, I say, mentis gratissimus error, [2605] a most delightsome humour, to be alone, dwell alone, walk alone, meditate, lie in bed whole days, dreaming awake as it were, and frame a thousand fantastical imaginations unto themselves.

I would advise him that is actually melancholy not to read this tract of Symptoms, lest he disquiet or make himself for a time worse, and more melancholy than he was before.

Life is a pure flame, and we live by an invisible Sun within us.

Riches do not so much exhilarate us with their possession, as they torment us with their loss.

Look into our histories, and you shall almost meet with no other subject but what a company of hare-brains have done in their rage.

Of the matter of melancholy, there is much question betwixt Avicenna and Galen, as you may read in Cardan's Contradictions, Valesius' Controversies, Montanus, Prosper Calenus, Capivaccius, Bright, Ficinus, that have written either whole tracts, or copiously of it in their several treatises of this subject. 'What

I write of melancholy, by being busy to avoid melancholy. There is no greater cause of melancholy than idleness, no better cure than business.

Who hath desires must ever fearful be; Who lives in fear cannot be counted free.

If any one shall ask in the meantime, who I am that so boldly censure others, have I no faults? Yes, more than thou hast, whatsoever thou art.

In the multitude of wisdom is grief, and they that increaseth wisdom, increaseth sorrow.

Our conscience, which is a great ledger book, wherein are written all our offenses...grinds our souls with the remembrance of some precedent sins, makes us reflect upon, accuse and condemn ourselves.

Birds of a feather will gather together.

All places are distant from heaven alike.

Everything, saith Epictetus, hath two handles,the one to be held by, the other not.

Many things happen between the cup and the lip.

Set a beggar on horseback and he will ride a gallop.

Machiavel says virtue and riches seldom settle on one man.

[Desire] is a perpetual rack, or horsemill, according to Austin, still going round as in a ring.

They have cheveril consciences that will stretch.

The Devil himself, which is the author of confusion and lies.

For ignorance is the mother of devotion, as all the world knows, and these times can amply witness.