Not only around our infancy
Doth heaven with all its splendors lie;
Daily, with souls that cringe and plot,
We Sinais climb and know it not.

And simple truth miscall’d simplicity,
And captive good attending captain ill.

I pity his ignorance and despise him.

Words are wise men’s counters, they do but reckon with them, but they are the money of fools.

All we know is still infinitely less than all that still remains unknown.