But what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry.

The parting of a husband and wife is like the cleaving of a heart; one half will flutter here, one there.

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

Virtue!--to be good and just-- Every heart, when sifted well, Is a clot of warmer dust, Mix'd with cunning sparks of hell.

What! I should call on that Infinite Love that has served us so well? Infinite cruelty rather, that made everlasting hell, Made us, foreknew us, foredoom'd us, and does what he will with his own; Better our dead brute mother who never has heard us groan.

Who is wise in love, love most, say least.

By blood a king, in heart a clown.