He that shuts love out, in turn shall be Shut out from love, and on her threshold lie, Howling in outer darkness.

In words, like weeds, I'll wrap me o'er, Like coarsest clothes against the cold

Guard your roving thoughts with a jealous care, for speech is but the dialer of thoughts, and every fool can plainly read in your words what is the hour of your thoughts.

The jingling of the guinea helps the hurt that Honor feels.

Nature, so far as in her lies, imitates God.

Oh that it were possible, After long grief and pain, To find the arms of my true love, Around me once again

On all things created remaineth the half-effaced signature of God, Somewhat of fair and good, though blotted by the finger of corruption.