Though the ancient poet in Plutarch tells us we must not trouble the gods with our affairs because they take no heed of our angers and disputes, we can never enough decry the disorderly sallies of our minds.

The soul that has no established aim loses itself

The finest souls are those that have the most variety and suppleness.

It is a small soul, buried beneath the weight of affairs, that does not know how to get clean away from them, that cannot put them aside and pick them up again.

The souls of emperors and cobblers are cast in the same mould