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 throw myself down in my chamber, and I call in, and invite God, and his Angels thither, and when they are there, I neglect God and his Angels, for the noise of a fly, for the rattling of a coach, for the whining of a door.

Filled with her love, may I be rather grown Mad with much heart, than idiot with none.

In best understandings, sin began, Angels sinned first, then Devils, and then Man.

Death is an ascension to a better library.

I count all that part of my life lost which I spent not in communion with God, or in doing good.

I did best when I had least truth for my subjects.