Humiliation is the beginning of sanctification.

The world is a great volume, and man the index of that book; even in the body of man, you may turn to the whole world.

All other things to their destruction draw, Only our love hath no decay.

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.

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.

Men have conceived a twofold use of sleep; it is a refreshing of the body in this life, and a preparing of the soul for the next.

To know and feel all this and not have the words to express it makes a human a grave of his own thoughts.