Robert Burton

1:Presence is always very close. ~ Robert Burton,

2:Be patient and devoted to your self. ~ Robert Burton,

3:I light my candle from their torches. ~ Robert Burton,

4:Simplicity of heart is the way out of imagination. ~ Robert Burton,

5:Silence is the answer, that is, silent presence is the answer." ~ Robert Burton,

6:The only way to see far is to see what is near...to see what is present. ~ Robert Burton,

7:Presence is designed to be forever; great patience is required to crystallize this state. ~ Robert Burton,

8:Swift is the passage of time and the end comes alarmingly fast. Nothing is more urgent than Presence. ~ Robert Burton,

9:That which others hear or read of, I felt and practised myself; they get their knowledge by books, I mine by melancholizing. ~ Robert Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy,

10:It is important to be quiet and absorbent, especially around beautiful impressions. In this way one brings everything one has learned in one's life to the present. ~ Robert Burton,

11:One way you verify Influence C is that too many things will happen that cannot be ascribed to accident. However, you don't want to be too eager to accept Influence C, or reject them. Just be open and neutral. Influence C moves fast. Be responsive and ready. ~ Robert Burton,

12:[E]very man hath liberty to write, but few ability. Heretofore learning was graced by judicious scholars, but now noble sciences are vilified by base and illiterate scribblers, that either write for vain-glory, need, to get money, or as Parasites to flatter and collogue with some great men, they put out trifles, rubbish and trash. Among so many thousand Authors you shall scarce find one by reading of whom you shall be any whit better, but rather much worse; by which he is rather infected than any way perfected...
What a catalogue of new books this year, all his age (I say) have our Frankfurt Marts, our domestic Marts, brought out. Twice a year we stretch out wits out and set them to sale; after great toil we attain nothing...What a glut of books! Who can read them? As already, we shall have a vast Chaos and confusion of Books, we are oppressed with them, our eyes ache with reading, our fingers with turning. For my part I am one of the number-one of the many-I do not deny it... ~ Robert Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy,

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1:All Poets are mad. ~ Robert Burton,

2:A quiet mind cureth all. ~ Robert Burton,

3:A quiet mind cureth all. ~ Robert Burton,

4:Be not solitary, be not idle ~ Robert Burton,

5:One religion is as true as another. ~ Robert Burton,

6:I light my candle from their torches. ~ Robert Burton,

7:What cannot be cured must be endured. ~ Robert Burton,

8:I light my candle from their torches. ~ Robert Burton,

9:What a glut of books! Who can read them? ~ Robert Burton,

10:Every man for himself, the devil for all. ~ Robert Burton,

11:He that increaseth wisdom, increaseth sorrow. ~ Robert Burton,

12:If the world will be gulled, let it be gulled. ~ Robert Burton,

13:Melancholy can be overcome only by melancholy. ~ Robert Burton,

14:If you have no dreams, you shall live within them ~ Robert Burton,

15:If you like not my writing, go read something else. ~ Robert Burton,

16:[T]hou canst not think worse of me than I do of myself. ~ Robert Burton,

17:A blow with a word strikes deeper than a blow with a sword. ~ Robert Burton,

18:The eyes are the harbingers of love, and the first step of love is sight. ~ Robert Burton,

19:Wine is strong, the king is strong, women are strong, but truth overcometh all things. ~ Robert Burton,

20:No cord or cable can draw so forcibly, or bind so fast, as [love] can do with a single thread. ~ Robert Burton,

21:Let thy fortune be what it will, 'tis thy mind alone that makes thee poor or rich, miserable or happy. ~ Robert Burton,

22:One religion is as true as another. ~ Robert Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy (1621), Book III. Sec. IV. Memb. 2. Subsec. 1,

23:Out of too much learning become mad. ~ Robert Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy (1621), Part III, Section 4. Memb. 1. Subsec. 2.,

24:That which others hear or read of, I felt and practised myself; they get their knowledge by books, I mine by melancholizing. ~ Robert Burton,

25:As a fat body is more subject to diseases, so are rich men to absurdities and fooleries, to many casualties and cross inconveniences. ~ Robert Burton,

26:as Chremilus concludes his speech, as we poor men live nowadays, who will not take our life to be [2261] infelicity, misery, and madness? ~ Robert Burton,

27:That which others hear or read of, I felt and practised myself; they get their knowledge by books, I mine by melancholizing. ~ Robert Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy,

28:Every schoolboy hath that famous testament of Grunnius Corocotta Porcellus at his fingers' ends. ~ Robert Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy (1621), Part III, Section I. Mem. I. 1.,

29: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. ~ Robert Burton,

30:If heaven be so fair,the sun so fair, how much fairer shall He be that made them fair? For by the greatness and beauty of the creatures, proportionally the maker of them is seen. ~ Robert Burton,

31:A good conscience is a continual feast, but a galled conscience is as great a torment as can possibly happen, a still baking oven (so Pierius in his Hieroglyph compares it), another hell. ~ Robert Burton,

32:that I have read many books, but to little purpose, for want of good method; I have confusedly tumbled over divers authors in our libraries, with small profit, for want of art, order, memory, judgment. ~ Robert Burton,

33:We love neither God nor our neighbor as we should. Our love in spiritual things is "too defective, in worldly things too excessive, there is a jar in both." We love the world too much; God too little; our neighbor not at all, or for our own ends. ~ Robert Burton,

34:It is an old saying, "A blow with a word strikes deeper than a blow with a sword"; and many men are as much galled with a calumny, a scurrile and bitter jest, a libel, a pasquil, satire, apologue, epigram, stage-plays, or the like, as with any misfortune whatsoever. ~ Robert Burton,

35: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. ~ Robert Burton,

36:...those impious epicures, libertines, atheists, hypocrites, infidels, worldly, secure, impenitent, unthankful, and carnal-minded men, that attribute all to natural causes, that will acknowledge no supreme power; that have cauterized consciences, or live in a reprobate sense; or such desperate persons as are too distrustful of his mercies. ~ Robert Burton,

37:I am not poor, I am not rich; nihil est, nihil deest, I have little, I want nothing: all my treasure is in Minerva’s tower...I live still a collegiate student...and lead a monastic life, ipse mihi theatrum [sufficient entertainment to myself], sequestered from those tumults and troubles of the world...aulae vanitatem, fori ambitionem, ridere mecum soleo [I laugh to myself at the vanities of the court, the intrigues of public life], I laugh at all. ~ Robert Burton,

38:Now go and brag of thy present happiness, whosoever thou art, brag of thy temperature, of thy good parts, insult, triumph, and boast; thou seest in what a brittle state thou art, how soon thou mayst be dejected, how many several ways, by bad diet, bad air, a small loss, a little sorrow or discontent, an ague, &c.; how many sudden accidents may procure thy ruin, what a small tenure of happiness thou hast in this life, how weak and silly a creature thou art. ~ Robert Burton,

39:When I lie waking all alone,
Recounting what I have ill done,
My thoughts on me then tyrannize,
Fear and sorrow me surprise,
Whether I tarry still or go,
Methinks the time moves very slow,
All my griefs to this are jolly,
Naught so sad as melancholy.
'Tis my sole plague to be alone,
I am a beast, a monster grown,
I will no light nor company,
I find it now my misery.
The scene is turn'd, my joys are gone,
Fear, discontent, and sorrows come.
All my griefs to this are folly,
Naught so fierce as melancholy. ~ Robert Burton,

40:Early Morning in Your Room

It's morning. The brown scoops of coffee, the wasp-like
Coffee grinder, the neighbors still asleep.
The gray light as you pour gleaming water--
It seems you've traveled years to get here.

Finally you deserve a house. If not deserve
It, have it; no one can get you out. Misery
Had its way, poverty, no money at least.
Or maybe it was confusion. But that's over.

Now you have a room. Those lighthearted books:
The Anatomy of Melancholy, Kafka's Letter
to his Father, are all here. You can dance
With only one leg, and see the snowflake falling

With only one eye. Even the blind man
Can see. That's what they say. If you had
A sad childhood, so what? When Robert Burton
Said he was melancholy, he meant he was home. ~ Robert Bly,

41:Plato in his Protagoras well saith, a good philosopher as much excels other men, as a great king doth the commons of his country; and again, [2062] quoniam illis nihil deest, et minimè egere solent, et disciplinas quas profitentur, soli à contemptu vindicare possunt, they needed not to beg so basely, as they compel [2063] scholars in our times to complain of poverty, or crouch to a rich chuff for a meal's meat, but could vindicate themselves, and those arts which they professed. Now they would and cannot: for it is held by some of them, as an axiom, that to keep them poor, will make them study; they must be dieted, as horses to a race, not pampered, [2064] Alendos volunt, non saginandos, ne melioris mentis flammula extinguatur; a fat bird will not sing, a fat dog cannot hunt, and so by this depression of theirs [2065] some want means, others will, all want [2066] encouragement, as being forsaken almost; and generally contemned. ~ Robert Burton,

42:[E]very man hath liberty to write, but few ability. Heretofore learning was graced by judicious scholars, but now noble sciences are vilified by base and illiterate scribblers, that either write for vain-glory, need, to get money, or as Parasites to flatter and collogue with some great men, they put out trifles, rubbish and trash. Among so many thousand Authors you shall scarce find one by reading of whom you shall be any whit better, but rather much worse; by which he is rather infected than any way perfected…

What a catalogue of new books this year, all his age (I say) have our Frankfurt Marts, our domestic Marts, brought out. Twice a year we stretch out wits out and set them to sale; after great toil we attain nothing…What a glut of books! Who can read them? As already, we shall have a vast Chaos and confusion of Books, we are oppressed with them, our eyes ache with reading, our fingers with turning. For my part I am one of the number—one of the many—I do not deny it... ~ Robert Burton,

43:[E]very man hath liberty to write, but few ability. Heretofore learning was graced by judicious scholars, but now noble sciences are vilified by base and illiterate scribblers, that either write for vain-glory, need, to get money, or as Parasites to flatter and collogue with some great men, they put out trifles, rubbish and trash. Among so many thousand Authors you shall scarce find one by reading of whom you shall be any whit better, but rather much worse; by which he is rather infected than any way perfected...
What a catalogue of new books this year, all his age (I say) have our Frankfurt Marts, our domestic Marts, brought out. Twice a year we stretch out wits out and set them to sale; after great toil we attain nothing...What a glut of books! Who can read them? As already, we shall have a vast Chaos and confusion of Books, we are oppressed with them, our eyes ache with reading, our fingers with turning. For my part I am one of the number-one of the many-I do not deny it... ~ Robert Burton, The Anatomy of Melancholy,

44:To The Reader Who Employs His Leisure Ill
Whoever you may be, I caution you against rashly defaming the author of this work, or cavilling in jest against him. Nay, do not silently reproach him in consequence of others' censure, nor employ your wit in foolish disapproval or false accusation. For, should Democritus Junior prove to be what he professes, even a kinsman of his elder namesake, or be ever so little of the same kidney, it is all up with you: he will become both accuser and judge of you in his petulant spleen, will dissipate you in jest, pulverize you with witticisms, and sacrifice you, I can promise you, to the God of Mirth.
Again I warn you against cavilling, lest, while you culumniate or disgracefully disparage Decmocritus Junior, who has no animosity against you, you should hear from some judicious friend the very words the people of Abdera heard of old from Hippocrates, when they held their well-deserving and popular fellow-citizen to be a madman: "Truly, it is you, Democritus, that are wise, while the people of Abdera are fools and madmen." You have no more sense than the people of Abdera. Having given you this warning in a few words, O reader who employ your liesure ill, farewell. ~ Robert Burton,

45:We that are bred up in learning, and destinated by our parents to this end, we suffer our childhood in the grammar-school, which Austin calls magnam tyrannidem, et grave malum, and compares it to the torments of martyrdom; when we come to the university, if we live of the college allowance, as Phalaris objected to the Leontines, [Greek: pan ton endeis plaen limou kai phobou] , needy of all things but hunger and fear, or if we be maintained but partly by our parents' cost, do expend in unnecessary maintenance, books and degrees, before we come to any perfection, five hundred pounds, or a thousand marks. If by this price of the expense of time, our bodies and spirits, our substance and patrimonies, we cannot purchase those small rewards, which are ours by law, and the right of inheritance, a poor parsonage, or a vicarage of 50 l. per annum, but we must pay to the patron for the lease of a life (a spent and out-worn life) either in annual pension, or above the rate of a copyhold, and that with the hazard and loss of our souls, by simony and perjury, and the forfeiture of all our spiritual preferments, in esse and posse, both present and to come. What father after a while will be so improvident to bring up his son to his great charge, to this necessary beggary? What Christian will be so irreligious, to bring up his son in that course of life, which by all probability and necessity, coget ad turpia, enforcing to sin, will entangle him in simony and perjury, when as the poet said, Invitatus ad hæc aliquis de ponte negabit: a beggar's brat taken from the bridge where he sits a begging, if he knew the inconvenience, had cause to refuse it." This being thus, have not we fished fair all this while, that are initiate divines, to find no better fruits of our labours, [2030] hoc est cur palles, cur quis non prandeat hoc est? do we macerate ourselves for this? Is it for this we rise so early all the year long? [2031] "Leaping" (as he saith) "out of our beds, when we hear the bell ring, as if we had heard a thunderclap." If this be all the respect, reward and honour we shall have, [2032] frange leves calamos, et scinde Thalia libellos: let us give over our books, and betake ourselves to some other course of life; to what end should we study? ~ Robert Burton,

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