I look upon death carelessly when I look upon it universally I love stout expressions amongst gentle men I love temperate and moderate natures I need not seek a fool from afar; I can laugh at myself I owe it rather to my fortune than my reason I receive but little advice, I also give but little I scorn to mend myself by halves I see no people so soon sick as those who take physic I speak truth, not so much as I would, but as much as I dare I take hold of, as little glorious and exemplary as you will I understand my men even by their silence and smiles I was always superstitiously afraid of giving offence I was too frightened to be ill “I wish you good health”“No health to thee” replied the other I would as willingly be lucky as wise I would be rich of myself, and not by borrowing I write my book for few men and for few years Idleness is to me a very painful labour Idleness, the mother of corruption If a passion once prepossess and seize me, it carries me away If I am talking my best, whoever interrupts me, stops me If I stand in need of anger and inflammation, I borrow it If it be a delicious medicine, take it If it be the writer’s wit or borrowed from some other If nature do not help a little, it is very hard If they can only be kind to us out of pity If they chop upon one truth, that carries a mighty report If they hear no noise, they think men sleep If to philosophise be, as ‘tis defined, to doubt Ignorance does not offend me, but the foppery of it Impotencies that so unseasonably surprise the lover Ill luck is good for something Imagne the mighty will not abase themselves so much as to live Imitating other men’s natures, thou layest aside thy own Immoderate either seeking or evading glory or reputation Impose them upon me as infallible Impostures: very strangeness lends them credit Improperly we call this voluntary dissolution, despair Impunity pass with us for justice In everything else a man may keep some decorum In ordinary friendships I am somewhat cold and shy In solitude, be company for thyselfTibullus In sorrow there is some mixture of pleasure In the meantime, their halves were begging at their doors In this last scene of death, there is no more counterfeiting In those days, the tailor took measure of it In war not to drive an enemy to despair Inclination to love one another at the first sight Inclination to variety and novelty common to us both Incline the history to their own fancy Inconsiderate excuses are a kind of self-accusation Inconveniences that moderation brings (in civil war) Indiscreet desire of a present cure, that so blind us Indocile liberty of this member Inquisitive after everything Insensible of the stroke when our youth dies in us