Men Have Lost Their Reason In Nothing

There Are Mystically In Our Faces Certain Characters Which Carry In Them The Motto Of Our Souls, Wherein He That Cannot Read May Read Our Natures.

We Do But Learn To-day What Our Better Advanced Judgements Will Unteach Us Tomorrow.

To Call Ourselves A Microcosme, Or Little World, I Thought It Onely A Pleasant Trope Of Rhetorick, Till My Neare Judgement And Second Thoughts Told Me There Was A Reall Truth Therein: For First Wee Are A Rude Masse, And In The Ranke Of Creatures, Which Only Are, And Have A Dull Kinde Of Being Not Yet Priviledged With Life, Or Preferred To Sense Or Reason; Next We Live The Life Of Plants, The Life Of Animals, The Life Of Men, And At Last The Life Of Spirits, Running On In One Mysterious Nature Those Five Kinds Of Existence, Which Comprehend The Creatures Not Onely Of World, But Of The Universe.

It Is We That Are Blind, Not Fortune; Because Our Eye Is Too Dim To Discern The Mystery Of Her Effects, We Foolishly Paint Her Blind, And Hoodwink The Providence Of The Almighty.

Quotation Mistakes, Inadvertency, Expedition, And Human Lapses, May Make Not Only Moles But Warts In Learned Authors.