A hoping Fool hath such terrible Falls, that his Brains are turned, though not cured by them.
The Hopes of a Fool are Bullets he throws into the Air, that fall down again and break his Skull.
There can be no entire Disappointment to a wise Man, because he maketh it a Cause of succeeding another time. A Fool is so unreasonably raised by his Hopes, that he is half dead by a Disappointment: his mistaken Fancy draweth him so high, that when he falleth, he is sure to break his Bones.
Of Anger.
Anger is a better Sign of the Heart than of the Head; it is a breaking out of the Disease of Honesty. Just Anger may be as dangerous as it could be if there was no Provocation to it; for a Knave is not so nice a Casuist but that he will ruin, if he can, any Man that blameth him.
Where Ill-nature is not predominant, Anger will be short-breathed, it cannot hold out a long Course. Hatred can be tired and cloyed as well as Love: for our Spirits, like our Limbs, are tired with being long in one Posture.
There is a Dignity in Good-sense that is offended and defaced by Anger.
Anger is never without an Argument, but seldom with a good one.
Anger raiseth Invention but it overheateth the Oven.
Anger, like Drink, raiseth a great deal of unmannerly Wit.