We have a pretty witty king, Whose word no man relies on; He never said a foolish thing, Nor ever did a wise one. - John Wilmot, 2nd Earl of Rochester

Whilst the misguided Follower climbs with Pain, Mountains of Whimsies, heapt in his own Brain, Stumbling from Thought to Thought, falls headlong down Into Doubt's boundless Sea, where like to drown, Books bear him up a-while, and make him try To swim with Bladders of Philosophy.

The clog of all pleasure, the luggage of life, Is the best can be said for a very good wife.

Reason, an Ignis fatuus of the Mind, Which leaves the light of Nature, Sense, behind.