And new philosophy calls all in doubt, The element of fire is quite put out; The sun is lost, and the earth, and no man's wit Can well direct him where to look for it. And freely men confess that this world's spent, When in the planets, and the firmament They seek so many new; then see that this Is crumbled out again to his atomies. 'Tis all in pieces, all coherence gone; All just supply, and all relation: Prince, subject, Father, Son, are things forgot.

I long to talk with some old lover's ghost, Who died before the god of love was born.

There is no health; physicians say that we, at best, enjoy but neutrality.

Humiliation is the beginning of sanctification.

And what is so intricate, so entangling as death? Who ever got out of a winding sheet?

For love all love of other sights controls and makes one little room an everywhere

God is so omnipresent. . . . God is an angel in an angel, and a stone in a stone, and a straw in a straw.