The rich have no more of the kingdom of heaven than they have purchased of the poor by their alms.

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, Much pleasure, then from thee much more, must flow, And soonest our best men with thee do go, Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.

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.

I throw myself down in my chamber, and I call and invite God and his angels thither.

Sweetest love, I do not go, For weariness of thee, Nor in hope the world can show A fitter love for me; But since that I Must die at last, 'tis best, To use my self in jest Thus by feign'd deaths to die.

How great love is, presence best trial makes, But absence tries how long this love will be.

But think that we Are but turned aside to sleep.