Robert Burton


Robert Burton Quotes

  • ''One was never married, and that's his hell; another is, and that's his plague.''
    Robert Burton (1577-1640), British clergyman, author. Anatomy of Melancholy, pt. 1, sct. 2, mem. 4, subsct. 7 (1621).
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  • ''They lard their lean books with the fat of others' works.''
    Robert Burton (1577-1640), British clergyman, author. The Anatomy of Melancholy, "Democritus to the Reader," (1621).
  • ''Every man hath a good and a bad angel attending on him in particular all his life long.''
    Robert Burton (1577-1640), British clergyman, author. The Anatomy of Melancholy, pt. 1, sct. 2, memb. 1, subsct. 2 (1621).
  • ''Almost in every kingdom the most ancient families have been at first princes' bastards.''
    Robert Burton (1577-1640), British clergyman, author. The Anatomy of Melancholy, pt. 2, sct. 2, memb. 1, subsct. 1 (1621).
  • ''Idleness is an appendix to nobility.''
    Robert Burton (1577-1640), British clergyman, author. The Anatomy of Melancholy, pt. 1, sct. 2, memb. 2, subsct. 6 (1621).
  • ''I may not here omit those two main plagues, and common dotages of human kind, wine and women, which have infatuated and besotted myriads of people. They go commonly together.''
    Robert Burton (1577-1640), British clergyman, author. The Anatomy of Melancholy, pt. 1, sct. 2, memb. 3, subsct. 13 (1621).
  • ''All places are distant from heaven alike.''
    Robert Burton (1577-1640), British clergyman, author. The Anatomy of Melancholy, pt. 2, sct. 3, memb. 4, subsct. 1 (1621).

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Best Poem of Robert Burton

The Anatomy Of Melancholy

When I go musing all alone
Thinking of divers things fore-known.
When I build castles in the air,
Void of sorrow and void of fear,
Pleasing myself with phantasms sweet,
Methinks the time runs very fleet.
All my joys to this are folly,
Naught so sweet as melancholy.

When I lie waking all alone,
Recounting what I have ill done,
My thoughts on me then tyrannise,
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 mad as melancholy.

When to myself I ...

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