God is at the end, when we thinke he is furthest off it.
Throw away thy rod, throw away thy wrath; O my God, take the gentle path.
Hee that workes after his owne manner, his head akes not at the matter.
Religion a stalking horse to shoot other foul.
Hee that would bee well old, must bee old betimes.
Who would have thought my shrivel'd heart could have recovered greenness?