Not one drop of blood is left inside my veins that does not throb: I recognize signs of the ancient flame.

In that part of the book of my memory before the which is little that can be read, there is a rubric, saying, Incipit Vita Nova. Under such rubric I find written many things; and among them the words which I purpose to copy into this little book; if not all of them, at the least their substance.

I am made of God, through his Grace. Such that your misery touches me not, Nor does flame of that burning assail me.

There is a gentle thought that often springs to life in me, because it speaks of you.

Before me things created were none, save things Eternal, and eternal I endure. All hope abandon, ye who enter here.

I saw a point that shone with light so keen, the eye that sees it cannot bear its blazing; the star that is for us the smallest one would seem a moon if placed beside this point.

Fate's arrow, when expected, travels slow.